


Rouges, softpaws, and forest-cats

by acaciapines



Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Gen, Original Clans, So many OCs, f/f and m/m relationships in the background, half-clan kittens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-11-20 09:50:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11333346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acaciapines/pseuds/acaciapines
Summary: Morningheart was a proud Grassclan cat, with fur ruffled by the wind and a heart that embraced change. She was proud to call herself a moor-runner, proud to bound through the fires that would scorch the land.Finding out she was half Hickoryclan shouldn't have changed her life so drastically.





	1. Entering Grassclan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It begins.

Chestnutfoot’s tail thumped against the ground and her claws dug into the moss of her nest. At her belly, three kittens slept, unaware of what was to happen. Sun trickled into the den, slipping through the vines growing over the entrance.

“Chestnutfoot,” a voice said, just louder than the leaves rustling, “Cedarnose stepped down to wake the next guard, now’s the time.”

Chestnutfoot nodded, knowing that Finchclaw couldn’t see her. She nudged her kittens awake and grabbed two of them by the scruff, using her paw to nudge the tom out the nursery. The black tom whimpered, but stumbled forward, out of the nursery and into the paws of Finchclaw.

“We have to hurry,” Finchclaw said, dipping his head down to grab Jackdaw. The black tom squirmed, but Finchclaw growled softly and the kitten fell still.

The two cats ran across the camp, paw-steps silent. Chestnutfoot slipped out first, pulling herself under the bush that seemed to tug at her fur and trap her. Finchclaw followed, and soon the two were walking step-in-step, towards the river that separated Hickoryclan from Grassclan.

“Where’re we going?” asked the squeaky voice of Morning, the pale tortoiseshell, from her mother’s jaws, “Is it an adventure?”

“You’re leaving,” Finchclaw said, voice muffled, “You’re meeting Duntail, your father, and going to Grassclan. I’m not going to pretend to understand why anybody would go there, but you can ask Chestnutfoot.” The tom’s tail lashed, and he snorted, “Why anybody could fall in love with one of those rouges is something I ask myself a lot.”

“What’s a rouge?” Jackdaw asked, twisting in Finchclaw’s jaws, “And I thought you were our Father. Mama said so.”

“Well, Mama lied,” Finchclaw said, flattening his ears. Chestnutfoot glared at him, but the gray tom only huffed and lifted his head higher.

“Rouges are the opposite of us, I think!” Otter said, tiny tail twitching, “Acornmind told me so. She said they don’t follow tradition and eat the bones of cats!”

Jackdaw lifted a paw and batted at his whiskers. “Why would we be going to a rouge?” he asked. Chestnutfoot growled under her breath and picked up her pace, focusing on the crunch of leaves beneath her paws. She could hear the river, now, and could also smell the earthy scent of the Grassclan border.

“They’re just up ahead,” Finchclaw said, slowing his jog into a trot. Chestnutfoot hurried on until she could see the river, the waves gentle and calming in the sunlight. Tall, gray trees grew beside the water, the branches trailing in the water and the leaves dangling above-head.

“Wow!” Otter chirped as Chestnutfoot set the two kittens down beside one of the trees, “It’s so pretty! Is that the river?” the tabby bounded forward until she was at the river, peering into the water.

“Yeah,” Chestnutfoot said, trotting to stand beside her daughter. Morning trailed after her, sitting beside her sister and tapping her paw against the waters’ surface. The tortoiseshell giggled when water splashed her nose.

“Chestnutfoot, I’m going back,” Finchclaw called. Chestnutfoot turned to look at the tom. He had already placed Jackdaw down, and the curious tom was staring up into the branches of the willow tree. Finchclaw himself had his ears flat. “What should I tell the clan? That you broke the code and ran away? That a bear or fox got you?”

“Say that we went out for a little walk with the kittens, to show them to one of the berry bushes,” Chestnutfoot said, tilting her head, “And that a hawk swooped down and grabbed one of them.” She paused to think, “No, hawks don’t really take kittens. Just say the kittens snuck off to the river, and I went after them, and we were all swept downstream and must’ve drowned.”

“I’ll tell them,” Finchclaw said, nodding. He looked down at his paws, stained brown from the mud. “Chestnutfoot, I…” he trailed off and closed his eyes, swallowing as though there was a tough bit of prey stuck in his throat. “Forget it,” he spat, “I’m just…You can come back if this doesn’t work, you know? I’ll vouch for you, say you were taken.”

Chestnutfoot turned back to look out over the river, and into the hills that made up Grassclan territory. “I know,” she said, watching the tall grass blow in the wind. Patches of bright flowers grew alongside Grassclan’s riverbed. She sighed and turned back to Finchclaw. “Thank you, for everything,” she said, “I know that if things were different, we could’ve had a life together.”

“Would’ve been easier,” Finchclaw said, his ears perking up, “Chestnutfoot, I hope you and the kittens do okay. I…I’m honored to be your pretend mate.”

Finchclaw kept his green eyes on hers for a moment longer, before he turned and began to walk away. Her disappeared behind a clump of raspberry bushes.

“Mama, why are we meeting a rouge?” Jackdaw asked, crawling up to her. Chestnutfoot returned her gaze to beyond the river.

“He’s your father, and, for better or worse, I love him. I can’t stand to live a lie in Hickoryclan, and be terrified of someone finding out and us all getting killed. Grassclan…well, they’re a bunch of rouges that call themselves a clan, but they won’t kill me for having a mate in another clan, or you for being my kits, and Duntail is there,” Chestnutfoot smiled. “I think I’ll get used to it.”

“Who’s Duntail?” Otter asked, scooping a leaf out of the river, “Is he a rouge?”

“He’s your father,” Chestnutfoot said, “And he should be here soon. He said he’d meet me.” Chestnutfoot narrowed her eyes and scanned the grasslands, trying to catch sight of Duntail in the golden grass.

“Hey, I see a cat!” Jackdaw said, and Chestnutfoot leapt to her paws, spinning around to try and see the cat her son saw. She didn’t see Duntail, so was it one of her clanmates? Had they come for her, for her kittens; had Finchclaw already broken his promise?

“So this must be my son,” said a voice Chestnutfoot knew very well. Her ears perked up and she turned in the direction of the voice.

Duntail was standing on Hickoryclan’s side of the river. His pelt was covered with leaves and twigs, and one of the branches on the willow tree was shaking. His cream pelt was ruffled and unkempt, as though he hadn’t bothered to groom it.

“What are you doing on this side of the border?” Chestnutfoot hissed, storming up to her mate. The tom lowered his tail and flattened his ears, taking a few steps back.

“It’s just near the river,” he said, confused, “I was trying to see if there was a way to get over without crossing the river. Turns out there is, you can jump to the willow branches and use those.” He looked down at the black tom by his paws, “Also, my son is adorable! He’s so fluffy, and cute, and I love him! Where are the others?”

“Behind me,” Chestnutfoot said, stepping aside so Duntail could see his two daughters. Otter was still batting at the water, but Morning was staring at her father with wide eyes.

“They’re the sweetest!” Duntail said, smiling, “My brother is gonna be so jealous, he’s always wanted to have kittens!”

“Your brother?” Chestnutfoot sat back down, Jackdaw trotting over to collapse by her side and fall back asleep. Duntail laughed and walked up to her, sitting down and wrapping his tail around hers.

“Yeah, Cardinalfur. He loves kittens, and is always helping out the queens by playing with the kittens when they need a break,” Duntail grinned, “And it’s just the funniest thing, because sometimes I’ll come back from hunting to find Cardinalfur collapsed in a pile of kittens, and his mate, Brownheart, is laughing with the queens as Cardinalfur tries to free himself.”

“Why doesn’t Cardinalfur have kittens of his own?” Chestnutfoot asked.

“He and Brownheart are both toms, so they can’t give birth,” Duntail explained, “But they did have kittens, a while back. Brownheart found two little mollies by the border, huddled up next to their dead mother. He said he thought a coyote must’ve gotten her, and he brought them back. He and Cardinalfur were super excited to finally have kittens of their own, but the two mollies didn’t survive more than a few nights. Nightfur nursed them with her kittens, but Cardinalfur stayed in the nursery and slept with them and everything,” Duntail paused and dropped his head. Chestnutfoot pressed her muzzle against his face.

“Sorry, sorry, I just feel terrible for the two of them. It was a few moons ago, this happened, so don’t bring it up. They don’t like to talk about it.”

“I won’t.” Chestnutfoot lifted her gaze to the sky, where the sun was still rising. “We should get going,” she said, standing up, “I don’t want to get caught.”

“Yeah,” Duntail agreed, “Do you want to carry them across the river? It’s pretty gentle. If not, we can climb the trees, but that might be hard with kittens.”

“We can cross the river,” Chestnutfoot said, and so they did.

 

* * *

 

Grassclan camp was deep in their territory. The golden grass was tall and itchy, brushing against Chestnutfoot’s nose and causing her to sneeze. Duntail bounded over the grass with grace, Morning and Jackdaw swinging in his jaws, while Chestnutfoot tripped over every stray root and rabbit-hole.

“Camp’s just up here!” called Duntail, and if she squinted, she could just see his cream shape, the tiny forms of their kittens beside him, “Brownheart’s standing guard, and camp’s in a flat, rocky area, so don’t worry!”

“Okay!” Chestnutfoot mumbled around Otter’s scruff. The little tabby sneezed and Chestnutfoot lifted her head higher, trying to keep her kitten out of the worst patches of grass.

The ground under her paws was hard, unlike the soil she had been traveling over before. Another few steps and she would be out of the tallest grass.

With a sigh, she stumbled out of the grass and into a large clearing. There were a few trees, with wide branches and tall trunks, and various rocks scattered about. Up a small hill was a flat rock, and there was a cat sitting on it.

“That’s Brownheart,” Duntail told her as she reached him, before raising his head and calling, “Brownheart, I’m back with my mate and kittens!”

“Oh! Duntail!” Brownheart called. He was a cat with long legs and fur that stuck up in all directions. His golden eyes were wide, and there was a pale purple…thing, fastened around his neck.

“Is that…a softpaw?” Chestnutfoot hissed to Duntail, “Duntail, why is there a softpaw guarding your camp? He’s wearing a mark around his neck!”

“What? You mean his collar?” Duntail tilted his head, “Yeah, Brownheart used to be a housecat. He’s a Grassclan cat now, though, and a really good one! He keeps his collar on to remember his old life. Well, he says that, but it’s also because nobody can figure out how to get it off. I don’t think he minds, though.”

“I didn’t think a group of rouges like yourself would take in a softpaw,” Chestnutfoot said, narrowing her eyes, “But you Grassclan cats never follow tradition, anyway.”

“I like to think it as letting new blood into the clan,” Duntail said, “But sure, think about tradition. Let’s go, the kittens must be tired, and I’m sure Brownheart doesn’t want to stand guard any longer.”

Duntail led the way up the hill, greeting the softpaw with a friendly purr. Chestnutfoot stood beside him, not sure what to do. She’d never met a softpaw before.

“Hiya, softpaw!” Jackdaw chirped, almost tripping over his own paws, “I’m Jackdaw! Who’re you?”

“Softpaw?” the brown tom asked, “Oh, you mean housecat. I’m not one of those, anymore. I’m Brownheart. You must be Duntail’s kitten. Who are your sisters?”

“I’m Otter, and the other one is Morning,” Otter said, lifting her tail with a proud smile on her face, “And we’re from Hickoryclan! We’re better than you!”

“Otter—” Chestnutfoot started to say, feeling her fur heat up, but the softpaw beat her to it.

“Well, I wouldn’t say your old clan is any better than mine,” the brown softpaw said, his ears swiveling in the direction of the camp behind him, “But we can talk about that later. Duntail, everyone’s awake. I told Cardinalfur to wake Brightpool when you get back, and the rest of the clan is eager to meet the new members. Do you want me to go down first, or?”

“Um, Chestnutfoot?” Duntail turned to the tabby molly, “Do you have any preference?”

“The softpaw can go down first,” she said, bending down to quickly smooth Jackdaw’s fur down, “We can go after. I’d like for everything to go orderly.”

Duntail bristled, but Brownheart shook his head, “It’s fine. I don’t mind,” the tom said, before he leapt off the rock and trotted down the hill, and into Grassclan camp. Duntail watched him go, tail sweeping from side-to-side, before he growled.

“Look, I know you Hickoryclan cats have a superiority complex,” Duntail hissed as he led Chestnutfoot and the kits after Brownheart, “But drop the whole softpaw stuff. Brownheart is as much a clan cat as me and you.”

Chestnutfoot flattened her ears but didn’t say anything. Beside her, Morning asked, “What’s a superiority complex?”

“Thinking you’re better than everyone,” Duntail said, “Now, hush.”

The Grassclan leader was a short, stocky, calico molly. Her green eyes were dull, but still held a certain sparkle in them. Her fur, like most of the Grassclan cats, was ruffled and wild. She was missing an ear, and part of her tail looked like it had been chewed off. Chestnutfoot had only seen the molly a few times, at gatherings, and never up close. _She looks much less impressive up close,_ Chestnutfoot thought.

“You’re Chestnutfoot,” Brightpool said. The molly was sitting on the rocky ground, her clan milling behind her. Most of the cats were light-colored, but Chestnutfoot could spot a few black and tortoiseshell pelts in the mix.

“Yes, I am,” Chestnutfoot said. Brightpool’s eyes seemed to be staring into her, as though studying her very spirit and judging her.

“Duntail,” Brightpool said, and the cream tom dipped his head before answering.

“Yes?” he asked.

“I’ll let her stay as long as she doesn’t insult our clan or our cats,” the calico molly said, turning away, “I heard everything she said about Brownheart.” Brightpool started to walk away, in the direction of a hole Chestnutfoot assumed to be her den. “The wind carries your words, in the grasslands,” Brightpool said, “The grass sings with the tones of cats. Don’t assume we can’t hear everything you say.”

With that, the molly slid down the hole and disappeared. The rest of the clan began to disperse, talking amongst themselves.

“You insulted Brownheart?” asked a voice from behind her. Chestnutfoot spun around to see a ginger tom, his ears flattened and fur rising. Beside him stood Brownheart, who was looking at his paws and shaking his head. 

“She’s a forest-cat, Cardinalfur,” Duntail said. He was standing near Chestnutfoot, one paw still lifted as though he was mid-step. Jackdaw was staring up at him with unblinking green eyes, while the kittens’ sisters tussled nearby.

“So?” the ginger tom asked, his white paw stained golden-brown from the grass, “She might be a forest-cat, but that doesn’t mean she can ignore the rules of the clan.”

“She doesn’t know anything else,” Brownheart said in his soft voice, “Look, how about we exchange heart-names? You can’t hate someone if they tell you their heart-name, and you know that, Cardinalfur.”

“She doesn’t have a heart-name, because she doesn’t know about your traditions!” Cardinalfur said, tail lashing, “I’m not about to let her call you softpaw, Brownheart, and you aren’t telling some stuck-up forest-cat your heart-name to make her play nice!”

“And I’ve said many times before that I don’t care,” Brownheart said, “Look, Chestnutfoot, we know each other’s face-names. And…well, I do agree. I’m not telling you my heart-name, but if you’re serious about Duntail, we’re family now.”

“What’s a heart-name?” Otter asked, rolling out from under her sister and jumping to her paws.

“Yeah, and a face-name! That sounds funny!” Morning said, trotting up beside Otter. Grit and dust clung to their pelts.

“I don’t know,” Chestnutfoot said, glancing over to her mate, “Duntail?”

“Brownheart can explain,” Duntail said, “And after, I’ll show you to the nursery.” He sat back on his haunches and his three kittens sat beside him. Chestnutfoot shifted from paw-to-paw before sitting beside him.

“Well,” Brownheart began, tilting his head, “I’m not sure if it’ll make sense to forest-cats, but I’ll try. When I joined Grassclan, I learned that all of my beliefs are different from clan beliefs. But, basically, all cats have three names. The face-name, the heart-name, and the soul-name. A face-name is the basic name the cat goes by, the name given by the human. Your clan names are face-names, for example, just an everyday name everybody calls you. Heart-names is a name given to you by your mother. It’s…well, with housecats, our mother names us, and then when we get adopted and have a human of our own, our human names us. Clan cats don’t really have heart-names, because they go by the same name their entire life. Heart-names are shared with cats you love and care for.”

Cardinalfur butted in, “For example, I know Brownheart’s heart-name because I’m his mate. I don’t have a heart-name, though. None of us do, except Brownheart, of course. Actually, the only clan cats to have a heart-name are…” the ginger tom trailed off. Brownheart nuzzled his mate.

“It’s okay, we’re okay,” the tom said, “Just…kittens. Our kittens. We both gave them heart-names. They’re traditionally given by the mother, but that’s because with housecats, you only have a mother. A father can give a heart-name too.”

“I named one of them,” Cardinalfur said. He closed his eyes, “I’m sorry, I…I’m going to my nest. Brownheart, you can…come later. After. You still have to explain soul-names.” The ginger tom butted his head to Brownheart’s, before he hurried off and disappeared into a hole in a rock. Duntail sighed softly.

“Why’s he sad?” Jackdaw asked, placing his tiny paw’s on his mother’s larger one. Otter and Morning mewed their agreement.

“Losing kittens is hard for everyone,” Duntail said, “C’mon, after this we can sleep. Brownheart?”

The brown tom jerked, as though being woken from a dream, “Oh, yes, sorry. Soul-names are…the sum of a cat. It’s what you are. Most cats spend their entire lives searching for their soul-name. I don’t know mine. I doubt I ever will.” He dipped his head, “If you want to know more, I can explain better when the moon rises. I’m going to bed now, goodnight, Duntail!”

The brown tom hurried off, disappearing into the same den as Cardinalfur. Duntail stood up and shook himself.

“What now?” Chestnutfoot asked.

“Now, I show you the nursery,” Duntail said. The cream tom grinned, “And then you say hello to your new life.”

Chestnutfoot followed after Duntail. The ground was hard and rocky beneath her paws, the sun was harsh on her back, but her kittens squeaked with excitement, and Chestnutfoot couldn’t help but be a little excited, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have many fanclans but these happen to be my favorite.
> 
> this'll be a series of connected one-shots, though there will be time-skips and they might not be in chronological order as i'm posting them in the order i write them. i already have like...five or six? something around that.
> 
> expect more clan terminology in the future. the soul-name, face-name, and heart-name idea was taken partly from tailchaser's song, a book about cats that is thousands of times better than warriors in both concept and execution. i mean, cat religion? sign me up for that worldbuilding man


	2. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's a huge time skip and we get to meet our main character.

Morningheart was awoken by the thrumming of hooves. The sounds shook the cave she was sleeping in, sending dust and grit down on her ruffled pelt.

“Not more pronghorn,” Fireflynose said, rubbing her nose with a paw, “I can’t stand the stupid animals. One of them almost stepped on me when we were sharing the river, you know.”

“That never happened,” Morningheart said with a huff, pushing herself to her paws and shaking her pelt out. Dust always stuck to her, and it took days of sunning herself in the stream to tug the dust out of her long fur.

“It totally did!” Fireflynose said, stretching out her front paws, “Swear on the star-cats. I was sitting there, beside a deer kit, and I was cleaning soot out of my fur, and boom! There’s this huge shadow towering over me, and I see a hoof coming for my tail, so I leap out of the way and splash into the river. Brownheart yelled at me because the water got all over his daughter, even though she was in the water so that’s stupid.”

“Which daughter?” Morningheart asked, turning to lick a patch of fur on her back. Fireflynose twitched her ear and rested her head on her paws.

“Dunno. The little black one with the white paw. I think Cardinalfur was doting on her the other day. It’s the one in the litter that’s becoming trainee’s tonight. Hey, think I might get one to train? I think Brightpool’s considering me.” Fireflynose purred, her orange and black tail twitching, “Hey, maybe we can both train one together! This litter has, what, four? Five? I lost count after the two of them adopted their third litter. I don’t get how anybody can love kittens enough to have three litters.”

“Cardinalfur was talking to me about wanting to change his name so the end reflects his skill in kitten-rearing,” Morningheart said, settling back down in her grassy nest. The pronghorn had passed on, the ground above her still once again.

“That’s a cool idea!” Fireflynose said, amber eyes shining, “Does he know what it would be?”

“I didn’t get to hear.” Morningheart looked down at her paws. “My mother came and yelled at me for talking to him, and told me to get back to my job or she’d report me. Honestly, you’d think she’d be used to it by now. I don’t have a job, and reporting me to Brightpool won’t do much unless I went and killed a ton of kittens or something!”

Fireflynose’s nose crinkled, “I don’t like your mother,” she said, “She reminds me of a forest-cat, all high and mighty and thinking herself to be the best, just because she follows tradition more.” The molly shook her head and curled her tail around her legs. “Oh well. Nothing we can do about her, and complaining won’t help. I’m going back to sleep. Wake me when Brightpool calls the ceremony.”

“I will,” Morningheart said softly. Fireflynose nodded and closed her eyes, drifting off into sleep. Morningheart, on the other hand, couldn’t make herself get tired. She lay down in her bed, stretching out alongside Fireflynose. She could still hear the distance echo of thundering hooves, and she could still smell forest, like a lingering taste of prey she couldn’t get off her tongue.

Before the pronghorn woke her up, she must’ve had the dream again.

It wasn’t a dream she had often. She could remember hazy visions, of herself and a kitten-fluff brother and sister, of her mother, eyes darting, uneasy, and of her father, loud and reckless and shaking leaves. She sometimes caught the fleeting glimpse of a gray tom, becoming one with the long shadows of the forest and disappearing within.

What she remembered best were the sounds, and the smells, and the sensations. The chirping of songbirds, singing high in the morning glow. The musk of forest, of damp leaves and heavy trees, blocking out the light and trapping her inside. The crash of wave against bank. The dampness of forest-dirt, and the scratching sensation of golden grass tickling her paws.

But she had never been to a forest. She and her siblings had never left Grassclan territory.

Morningheart rested her head on her paws and though back too what Brownheart would often tell her. “Morning,” he would say, his brown fur ruffled from where his kittens had attacked him, playfully, “Dreams are made up of the same stuff a soul-name is made of. They’re made of what you see, and hear, and smell, and taste, and feel. They tell you something about yourself that you aren’t meant to figure out yet. So don’t linger on them. When the time comes, you’ll know what it means.”

“Soul-names…” Morningheart said under her breath. She knew what a soul-name was, of course, the entire clan knew. She didn’t know hers, and as far as she knew, neither did anybody else. And if soul-names were like dreams, intangible and hidden, then maybe the forest dream was just another part of her. Something she had to hold close and, one day, return to it and figure out what it was trying to tell her.

Morningheart curled her tail over her nose, and closed her eyes. The trainee ceremony for the third litter of Brownheart and Cardinalfur was tomorrow, and she couldn’t miss it.

 

* * *

 

“You promised to wake me up!”

Morningheart’s head shot up, and the top of her head banged into someone’s chin. She heard the annoyed grumble of her brother, his black fur blacking her view, and the laughter of her mate.

“Ugh, Morningheart,” Jackdawclaw said, stepping back and shaking his head, “What a nice way to be greeted.”

“Sorry,” Morningheart said, standing up and butted her head against her brother’s side, “Hey, Fireflynose!” she called, catching sight of the tortoiseshell molly. The molly was currently collapsed in someone’s nest, trying to hold back her snickers.

“Good morning to you too! Now, hurry up, Brightpool already called for the ceremony to start and I wanted to make sure you didn’t miss it.” Fireflynose stood up and shook the stray grass from her short fur. “And, Jackdawclaw, Duntail wanted to see you.”

“I don’t want to see him,” Jackdawclaw said, tail lashing, “I know what he wants to talk about.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Morningheart said, trotting up to stand beside Fireflynose, “Dad’s a good cat. You two should make up and stop fighting, and do it fast before the kittens’ ceremony is over. Maybe you’ll get one to train!”

Jackdawclaw hissed something under his breath and stormed out of the den, stepping on Partridgefoot’s tail as he left.

Partridgefoot yelped and jerked his tail towards him. The tabby growled and glared at Morningheart.

“I hate your brother,” the tabby said, standing to his paws and stalking out of the den. Morningheart narrowed her eyes but said nothing.

“Let him go,” Fireflynose said, making her way out of the den, “C’mon, let’s go. We don’t want to miss it!”

Morningheart followed her out of the den and into the clearing. Brightpool was already sitting on the flat rock in the middle of camp, and most of the clan was gathered around her. Morningheart looked around for Brownheart, Cardinalfur, and their kits as she and Fireflynose walked to a seat, but she couldn’t see any of them.

“Where’s the kittens?” Morningheart asked after they sat down, beside Minnowmind and Dawnpad.

Fireflynose shook her head, but Dawnpad piped up. “I bet they’re still in the nursery, being groomed by their dads. My Mom did that with me and Tawnypad before we became trainees. She wanted us to look super nice.”

“Yeah, my Dad did that to me, too,” Fireflynose said, smiling, “Right after he groomed me, my brother tripped me and I landed back in the dust. It was kinda embarrassing, going up in front of the whole clan with my fur coated in dust, but it wasn’t too bad now that I look back on it.”

Minnowmind let out a hacking laugh. “You’re leaving out the best part,” she said, blue eyes sparkling, “Remember? When I went up to be your mentor, you leapt off the rock and sent the two of us tumbling to the ground.” The elder grinned and turned her attention back to the front, “I wonder if these five will do anything.”

“Cats of Grassclan!” Brightpool called, kinking her partly-chewed tail over her back as she strode to the front of the rock. Conversations died down as everyone turned to face the calico leader. “I’m sure you all know why you’re here. Yes, Cardinalfur and Brownheart went and found more kittens, and now I have the honor of naming them trainees!”

“It’s a great thing that they’re doing,” Fireflynose whispered to Morningheart as Brightpool continued to speak, “You know, helping out kittens who were abandoned or had their parents killed. If we wanted kittens, I’d do the same thing.”

"Yeah,” Morningheart whispered back, trying to listen to Brightpool. Fireflynose got the hint and fell silent.

“Aspenleaf, as the oldest, do you have anything to share about your littlest siblings? Stories, embarrassing moments, anything you want to say before they’re no longer kittens?” Brightpool asked, sitting down and curling her tail around her paws. The silver tabby, Aspenleaf, laughed from her spot beside Sandfur.

“Other than the fact that I’m sad I can’t take any as my next trainee, no. They’re all great kittens. A handful, yeah, but great kittens. I know they’ll make the clan proud!”

Morningheart joined in the cheering, adding her own yowls to the crowd as the five kittens walked onto the flat rock, their parents sitting together just beside it. She caught Brownheart’s eye, and he grinned, pale purple collar half-hidden under his thick brown fur.

“Alright, alright, thanks for speaking, Aspenleaf,” Brightpool said, waiting to the cheers to die down, “Now. What I’m sure everyone is most excited for!” The calico molly smiled. “Beetle, you are a brave and reckless little kitten. From this moment on, you will be Beetlepad, a brave and reckless little trainee. Heatherfur! You will be the one to mentor this little trainee. I hope you teach her all you know, and hopefully stop her from sneaking out of camp and scaring everybody.”

Heatherfur emerged from the crowd of cats, head held high. She started to walk to the flat rock, but Beetlepad meowed happily and launched herself off the rock, crashing into Heatherfur and sending the two tumbling to the ground.

"I like this one!” Minnowmind said, turning to look at Fireflynose, “Reminds me of you, at your ceremony.”

Fireflynose huffed, but puffed her chest out. Morningheart had to fight back a smile.

Brightpool waited for both mentor and trainee to get back to their paws and walk to sit beside Brownheart and Cardinalfur, before continuing on. Plover become Ploverpad, and the shy little molly greeted her mentor, Nightfur, by tripping over her own paws and smashing into the black molly’s chest.

Walnut was named Walnutpad. The tabby squealed and trotted up to his mentor, Sandfur, and the two touched noses. Pike was named Pikepad, and Brightpool waited for the little tabby to calm himself down before naming his mentor.

“Fireflynose! You’ll be the one to mentor Pikepad. I hope you can help get him out of his shell.” Brightpool said, smiling at the little tabby beside her.

“I…I did it,” Fireflynose said, a grin splitting her face, “Me! I did it!” The tortoiseshell purred and leapt to her feet, bounding through the crowd and leaping onto the rock. Pikepad shrunk back, and Fireflynose stopped her bouncing.

“I'm proud to be your mentor, Pikepad! I’ll teach you all I know!” Fireflynose said, letting the little tabby bump his nose to hers. She led her new trainee off the rock and to the rest of his siblings.

Morningheart couldn’t help but feel proud of her mate. She’d make a great mentor, especially for little Pikepad. He was always the shyest of the five, and if anybody could help him speak up, it was Fireflynose.

“And last, but certainly not least, Smoke,” Brightpool said. Morningheart watched the light gray tabby become Smokepad, and step up to the front of the flat rock to receive her mentor.

"Morningheart! You have a good heart, and I’m sure you will teach Smokepad everything you know,” Brightpool said. She stood to her paws, and Morningheart stood to hers. She began to stumble through the crowd, not sure what she was feeling. Excitement? Fear? Happiness? She wanted to break into a smile and run to Fireflynose, but she had something else to do first.

Morningheart leapt onto the flat rock. Her new trainee, Smokepad, stared up at her with curious gold eyes. Morningheart let herself smile and bent down to touch her nose to the younger cat’s, but a yowl made her stop.

“That’s it!” said a voice Morningheart knew very well. She could see Brightpool stiffen beside her, and Morningheart felt her own fur prickling. She took a deep breath, bumped her nose to Smokepad’s, and turned around.

Chestnutfoot was standing just in front of the flat rock, fur bristled and tail out straight. Her green eyes were burning with fire, and her teeth were bared.

“I’ve had enough. I can take the rouges who pretend to be clan cats, can take the fact that nobody here follows the code, but the one thing I’ve been adamant on is that softpaw and his good-for-nothing family. I refuse to let my daughter mentor one of his…his…stolen orphans!” Chestnutfoot growled and narrowed her eyes. “Morningheart,” she said, “Get off the rock. We’re leaving, us and your siblings.”

“How dare you insult my mate!” Cardinalfur spat from where he was sitting, leaping to his paws. Brownheart hissed and held him back, along with Fireflynose, who was casting concerned looks at Morningheart, and Sandfur, who wasn’t looking at anybody.

“Chestnutfoot, what are you doing?” Morningheart’s father stepped out of the crowd, tail drooping, “You…you joined Grassclan because you hated Hickoryclan! You wanted to be away from the rules and traditions! Wh-what happened? I know we haven’t been the best of mates for a long while now, but I thought…things were doing okay!”

“Okay? Okay? You really think I’ve enjoyed living here? I have to share a den with a softpaw! I have to watch you let rouges join all willy-nilly! I have to watch my daughter become mentor to a softpaw’s kitten! I joined Grassclan because I thought it would be better than Hickoryclan, and I put up with it because it was all my kittens knew, but this is it. We’re leaving.”

Chestnutfoot turned to face the crowd. “Well? Jackdawclaw, Otterwhisker, get up here!”

There was a sick feeling in Morningheart’s stomach, like she had eaten something rotten. Duntail was still standing where he was, blinking, looking at Chestnutfoot like a dead mouse looks at the one who killed it. Cardinalfur was hissing, glaring at Chestnutfoot, and his tail was wrapped around his mate’s. Behind her, Smokepad was shifting from paw to paw, making small sniffling noises, and Brightpool was watching Chestnutfoot.

Jackdawclaw was the first to walk out of the crowd, fur sleek as though he had just groomed it. He nodded once to Chestnutfoot, and looked up at Morningheart.

“Are you coming?” he asked, tilting his head the way he used to do when they were kittens. Morningheart shook her head, slowly, disbelieving.

“You…you’re leaving? To become a forest-cat?” Morningheart asked, scraping her claws against the flat rock. Jackdawclaw nodded.

“This clan is full of softpaws and forest-burners,” he said, simply, “I hate it here. The grass burns every hot-season, and everything’s exposed and uncovered. Grassclan isn’t the place for well-off cats like us. Mom told me everything, Morningheart, about how we were from Hickoryclan but she left. We’ll be home, Morning! Under the trees, following the Code…doesn’t it sound great?”

“Jackdawclaw…” she said. Morningheart stared at her paws, one gray and one cream. She didn’t hate her brother. She never could. “Forest-cats are judgmental and rude. They hate cats like Brownheart, and for no reason! He’s a great father, he can hunt and fight like any cat, but…no! Hickoryclan is horrible. There’s a reason we don’t follow the Code, Jackdawclaw, and that’s because it’s old and outdated. Some traditions are better left behind.”

“You’re such a forest-burner, Morningheart,” Jackdawclaw said. He took a deep breath and dropped her gaze. “Fine. Stay here. I’ll vouch for you if you ever decide to come home with me and Mom.”

“This is home,” Morningheart said. Jackdawclaw refused to look her way.

“I guess one of my kittens was corrupted already,” Chestnutfoot said with a growl, “Fine. Whatever. Stay here, you aren’t any kitten of mine. Otterwhisker? Are you coming, or am I leaving here with my only kitten?”

Otterwhisker didn’t show herself. Morningheart wasn’t sure if that was too make a point, or just because Otterwhisker hadn’t woken up yet.

“Be that way,” Chestnutfoot said. She turned to Brightpool.

“Get out of my camp,” Brightpool said, “And get out of my territory. You’ve interrupted a trainee ceremony, insulted a valued member of my clan, and if you want to leave, then go. You won’t be welcomed back, and I doubt my cats will show you sympathy.”

“I wouldn’t want your sympathy, anyway,” Chestnutfoot spat. She turned and bounded up the hill, into the grass, and out of site, Jackdawclaw following behind her.

The clan sat in stunned silence for a while. It was Morningheart who finally broke that silence.

“Hey, Smokepad,” Morningheart said, voice soft, “I’m your mentor. I hope we’ll get along.”

The clan erupted into cheers, and Morningheart found that she didn’t care about her mother, because Fireflynose was by her side, and Brownheart was calling her name, and Otterwhisker had decided to show herself.

Grassclan was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah there's a massive time skip between the first chapter and all the others. one day i'l write more backstory, but i'm too lazy to do that right now and only have vague ideas, anyway, nothing i could make into a long story. 
> 
> anyway. 
> 
> i low-key hate jackdawclaw's name bc its so annoying to type out. watch him be called jackdaw whenever i can get away with it. 
> 
> this chapter does not feature otterwhisker because i forget she exists on a regular basis (in-universe excuse is she would rather sleep than face her problems), and does feature brownheart because i actually love coming up with house-cat legends.


	3. The Gathering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's a gathering, we meet the other two clans, and cats yell at each other.

Morningheart walked beside Cardinalfur, the older tom leading the way as they trekked through the forest and to the fallen log that let them cross over to Moonlit Island. The thick scent of dead leaves hung in the air, even though Morningheart was as far from the trees as she could manage. Coarse sand rubbed against her paw-pads.

“Remember!” Brightpool called from the front of the group, voice loud and clear, “We aren’t provoking Hickoryclan, but if they mess with us, we mess with them, got it?”

Cardinalfur snorted beside her, muttering, “Oh, I’ll mess with Hickoryclan, alright.” Morningheart flicked an ear, a small smile growing on her face.

“They won’t know what hit them,” the molly said with a friendly huff, holding her tail proud over her back. Cardinalfur nodded, baring his teeth at the nearby forest while his paws sank into the sand.

The fallen log came into view, old and heaving after so many generations of cats crossing it. Brightpool crossed first, head and tail held high, and her deputy, Pidgeonseed, followed behind, a stocky molly who was more fluff than bone. The rest of the clan went after, with Morningheart and Cardinalfur bringing up the rear.

“Seems like only Moorclan is here,” Cardinalfur commented as they stepped off the log and onto the island. The island was already alive with the shape of cats, and smelt of wind and heather. Morningheart nodded, waving her tail goodbye before bounding across the short grass and to Fireflynose, who was chatting with a wiry Moorclan tom.

“Hey, Morningheart!” Fireflynose called with a purr, scooting over to give Morningheart room. The Moorclan tom flicked a golden-colored ear in greeting. “This is Tansyfoot, he was telling me about his kittens.”

“Hi, then,” Morningheart said, sitting beside Fireflynose, “I’m Morningheart.”

“Nice to know you,” Tansyfoot said, “Did you pass Hickoryclan along the way?”

Morningheart shook her head. “Didn’t see them, and the stench of rot was too overpowering for me to smell them,” she said, licking a paw and running it along her whiskers. “Why, did you need them for something?”

“Just wondering. They’ve been a lot more uppity whenever I pass them on border patrol,” the tabby said, stretching out and lying down, “A few nights ago, I went to bring my kittens, Maplepad and Acornpad, out to the river-border to teach them how to fish, when this patrol of Hickoryclan cats started coming our way. I made nothing of it, because we weren’t doing anything wrong, but the leader, this huge tabby, comes towering over me and starts yelling about how I’m stealing his prey, and invading his territory, and need to get out before he comes for blood. I’m not stupid, so I nosed my kittens up and booked it outta there, running faster than a rabbit who knows it’s death is coming near.”

“Wow,” Fireflynose said, and Morningheart nodded her agreement. “They just…flipped on you? Just like that?”

“No warning or nothing,” Tansyfoot said with a growl, “Star-cats, I hope they don’t show up. I’ve had enough forest-cats for a lifetime, thank you very much.”

“Us moor-runners gotta stick together, right?” Fireflynose said with a laugh. Tansyfoot purred his amusement, before his eyes narrowed and his ears went back against his head.

“Hickoryclan,” he spat, fur bristling along his spine, “Sorry, I have to find my daughters. I wish you luck and safety.”

“Luck and safety to you, too!” Morningheart called after the tom, Fireflynose echoing her farewell.

Morningheart turned her attention to the tall rock in the center of the island. On it, sat Brightpool, who was talking to the Moorclan leader, a long-legged, battle scarred tom. Hickoryclan’s leader was leaping up, a well-groomed brown tabby with piercing gold eyes.

“Do you think Chestnutfoot came?” Fireflynose asked, eyes darting around the island, looking for Morningheart’s tabby mother, “I hope she didn’t.”

“Me too,” Morningheart said, but she was digging her claws into the warm sand and slapping her tail against the ground. Fireflynose let out a rumbling purr and licked Morningheart’s cheek, trying to calm the pale tortoiseshell.

“She won’t start anything, don’t worry,” Fireflynose said, nuzzling her mate, “Chestnutfoot… well, I guess her being Hickoryclan explains a lot, but they’re all talk and no bite. We could take them on.”

“It’s not her,” Morningheart said, trying to control her breathing, “I just…I wish Dad took a normal mate. I want my brother back, and it’s all his fault everything’s messed up!”

“Morningheart…” Fireflynose started to say, but Brightpool yowled for attention, and Fireflynose hissed. “We’ll talk about it when we get home, okay?” the tortoiseshell said, curling her dark tail around Morningheart’s lighter one.

“Okay,” Morningheart whispered, resting her head against her mate’s and watching the leaders on the rock, the moon hanging in the sky behind them, the white of its light blotted out by the twisting branches of Hickoryclan territory.

“Cats of the clans!” Brightpool called. She was sitting on the left side of the rock, her calico pelt ruffled from wind and her green eyes shining in the light. Beside her, in the center of the rock, was Hickoryclan’s leader, Beaverpool. He was a well-groomed tom, his tail curled around his large paws. On the right, on Beaverpool’s other side, was Russetpool, a powerful, battle-scarred tom. His one ear was flattened against his head, and his lone eye watched the crowd.

Russetpool stood first, stepping to the front of the rock. He stood tall and strong despite missing a leg, chest puffed out.

“Moorclan is doing well,” he started, “We have one new trainee, Badgerpad, and two new warriors, Heatherwing and Batnose.” The tom’s tail twitched while the crowd cheered the names, Moorclan’s yowls the loudest and Hickoryclan’s almost nonexistent.

“I do have one question, though,” the tom continued once the cats quieted down, turning his gaze to Beaverpool, “I want to know why your cats have been threatening to attack mine. It started a few nights ago, with no warning, and the ones threatened include two trainees, and a group of elders and kittens.” Russetpool narrowed his eye and his ear flattened.

Beaverpool hissed, “Well, now that we know one of our best warriors, and her young kittens, were stolen from our clan years ago, we’re much more cautious around neighbors.” The tom turned to spit at Brightpool, who kept her head held proud, “That’s right, you and your rouges kidnapped Chestnutfoot, her three young kittens, and took her kittens away from her without telling them their true heritage.”

Brightpool laughed, a hissing, raspy sound. “Chestnutfoot came of her own accord, because she had taken a Grassclan tom as a mate,” the calico leader said, standing to her paws, “She’s here, isn’t she?”

“I am.” Chestnutfoot’s voice rang throughout the night, the crowd of cats silent and watching the exchange with wide eyes. “The Grassclan leader lies, just like rouges always do. I was held for ages in a prison, my kittens were taken from me, and worst of all, they were tricked by these rouges into thinking I was the evil one! My son, Jackdawclaw, who saw the truth and escaped, is here with me tonight. Are my two daughters here? I just want my family to be back together…”

“You lie,” Brightpool said, hissing low and loud, “You were treated like a member of our clan. You came to us, because you had mated with a Grassclan tom and couldn’t owe up to your decisions.”

“I would never lie!” Chestnutfoot spat, arching her back, “Well, Brightpool, why don’t you tell the clans about the softpaw in your ranks? I’m sure they’ll love to know you accepted that pet into your clan.”

“You leave my mate out of this!” Cardinalfur yowled. Morningheart didn’t see the ginger tom until he stalked out to the base of the rock, where Chestnutfoot was standing. The ginger tom was bristling, teeth bared and ears flat against his head. “Brownheart is more of a clan cat then you’ll ever be! You played with my brother’s heart, you insulted my family, but that’s the last time you’ll ever do that!”

Cardinalfur snarled and lunged at Chestnutfoot, sending her crashing to the ground. The tom dug his claws into her chest, and she kicked at his belly with her hind legs. One strong kick sent Cardinalfur off of her, where he crashed against the rock, blood oozing from a cut in his head. Chestnutfoot stalked up to him, growling, before there was a cry of, “Dad!” and Aspenleaf crashed into Chestnutfoot’s side.

“Stand down!” Russetpool yowled, leaping off the rock and in-between the two mollies. Aspenleaf stood beside her father, tail lashing, while Chestnutfoot picked herself off the ground and dug her claws into the sand.

Brightpool leapt off the rock to join her fellow leader. “Look,” she said, “I’m not sure why Chestnutfoot is lying like this. We treated her with nothing but respect, even though she insulted our clan and our cats. She interrupted a trainee ceremony, because she didn’t want her daughter to mentor a kitten who had a former house-cat for a father, yelled abuse at our clan and cats, and ran away with her son, who was the only cat to go with her.”

“Are her kittens here, then?” Russetpool asked, turning to face the crowd, “If you are, come forward. Explain your story.”

“I’m going,” Morningheart told Fireflynose, standing to her paws and walking through the crowd. It parted as she came, leaving space for her to pass them. All too soon, she was standing before two of the three leaders.

“And you are?” Russetpool asked. Morningheart swallowed back bile.

“I’m Morningheart,” she said, hoping her voice wouldn’t shake too much, “My sister, Otterwhisker, is back at camp, and Jackdawclaw…Mom took him. I don’t…”

“I’m here too,” said the gruff voice of Jackdawclaw. His black pelt was shiny and sleek, just washed, and he held himself different, as though the disease of the forest-cats had already trapped him.

“Jackdawclaw…” Morningheart said. Her brother snorted and turned to face the crowd.

“Mom’s not lying,” he said, “I never knew I was a Hickoryclan cat. Chestnutfoot told me. It made sense. My ‘Dad,’ Duntail, he never cared for me much. That’s because he wasn’t my dad, just the tom who kidnapped me.”

“She’s lying and you know it,” Morningheart spat, “Duntail’s our father, not some dumb forest-cat. Look, Jackdaw, I know you’re better than this! You know you’re better than this! So tell the truth.”

“I am,” is all Jackdawclaw said.

“Fine, then I’ll tell the truth.” Morningheart turned to face the cats surrounding her, staring at her with anger, confusion, and pity. “Chestnutfoot and Duntail are our parents. I thought that we were full Grassclan, because that was where I grew up. Mom was like any other warrior, doing the normal things a warrior would do. Grassclan is my home, my family, and they’ve been nothing but that. Mom came to us willingly, because she hated the rules and traditions of Hickoryclan. She probably thought she’d be killed if she was found out.”

Morningheart stared to her paws, her fur heating up, “And she was terrible. My uncle, Brownheart, is the greatest cat I know, but she taunted and made fun of him for not being a born clan cat. She refused to let me talk to him, though I still did, and during my trainee, Smokepad’s, ceremony, she yelled at said that I wasn’t to take Smokepad as my trainee, because her parents are Brownheart and Cardinalfur. I…I don’t know why Jackdawclaw left. He wasn’t treated differently from me.”

“I see what this is,” Russetpool said, “Chestnutfoot here made a mistake, and now she has to blame it on somebody. I don’t see why I should care. This is something that your clans should sort out, and Grassclan seems to be sorted out. They aren’t attacking Hickoryclan.”

“That cat tried to kill me!” Chestnutfoot yowled.

“Because you insulted his mate!” Aspenleaf snarled from where she was.

“Exactly,” Russetpool said, “And it seems like this wasn’t the first time. Chestnutfoot took a mate in another clan, so her clan, Hickoryclan, should decide punishment. Now, if that’s all, I call this gathering to an end!”

Moorclan was the first to leave, bounding over the fallen log and back to the mainland. Hickoryclan left next. Jackdawclaw was still standing, watching the retreating back of Chestnutfoot. His fur was bushy.

“Jackdaw…” Morningheart said, walking up to her brother and rubbing against his side, “Jackdaw, come back to Grassclan. It’s home. Chestnutfoot is just…”

“You don’t understand anything, do you?” Jackdawclaw said with a laugh, a harsh, unfunny sound, “Typical of your forest-burners. Just go away, Morningheart. As far as Mom’s concerned, I’m her only kitten, so you aren’t even my sister.”

And so Jackdawclaw stalked away, leaving Morningheart with his scent in her mouth, his fur in the air, and no brother in sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter still doesnt feature otterwhisker because once again i forget she exists. she will appear soon. she and morningheart have things to talk about. 
> 
> theres a lot of clan politics that i'd like to get into one day but like...they're cats. i treat the clans like small countries bc that makes it easier for me to understand how everything works, but still. they are cats. 
> 
> i feel like im making hickoryclan too much of the bad guys. they arent really the bad guys. i mean, they are in this, but ofc you're gonna be biased depending on where you grew up. 
> 
> anyway im not rambling about cats anymore. im glad a few people are reading this that makes me happy.


	4. Leaf-rot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet some trainees and are taught about leaf-rot.

“Is there gonna be a war?”

Morningheart jumped, and her paw slipped into the water, scaring away the fish she was watching. She shook out her paw as she stood, turning to face her trainee, Smokepad, and Smokepad’s brother, Pikepad.

“A war?” Morningheart asked, licking her paw and placing it back on the ground. Smokepad’s tail twitched.

“Yeah. Because Chestnutfoot is a forest-cat now,” Smokepad said, digging her claws into the dirt, “Hollymind was talking about it. She told me to always go for the throat.”

“Hollymind is…old,” Morningheart said, glancing over to Fireflynose, who was dozing in a patch of moonlight on the other side of the stream. She turned her attention back to the young cats. “I’m…I’m sure there won’t be a war. There isn’t any reason to start one.”

“Well, Hollymind said that Hickoryclan always starts wars over stupid things. She said when she was our age, Hickoryclan started a war because a Grassclan cat caught a mouse on the Hickoryclan side of the river-border, even though it was hot-season and there was enough prey for everyone.”

“She also said that Hickoryclan got all upset when their warriors died in the battle,” Pikepad added, sitting beside his sister, “I think that’s dumb. Why would you get mad when a cat dies in a battle you started?”

Morningheart sighed. “I don’t know, you two,” she said, “I don’t know how Hickoryclan works. They’re forest-cats. Maybe it’s the leaf-rot that gets to them.”

“Leaf-rot?” Smokepad asked, tilting her head to the left, “What is leaf-rot? Nobody’s ever told me what it is.”

“Isn’t it like…a sickness?” Pikepad said, though he sounded unsure. “That’s what Dad said it was. A sickness. Could Aspenleaf cure it?”

“Leaf-rot is…” Morningheart looked once again back at her mate. The tortoiseshell was still sleeping, though the moonlight had been blotted out by a cloud.

“Is…” Smokepad prompted, butting her head against Morningheart’s side. Morningheart shook herself and returned her attention to the trainees.

“Leaf-rot is a sickness, but not one Aspenleaf could cure,” Morningheart started, “It’s like…well, you know how the grasslands burn every hot-season? How that cleanses the land and leads to rebirth?”

“Yup!” Smokepad said, sitting beside her brother and crushing a beetle, “Hey, Pike, remember when a deer almost stepped on you? That was funny.”

“That wasn’t funny,” Pikepad said with a frown, “I almost died. A deer could kill me.”           

“I know, that’s why it’s funny!” Smokepad said with a purr, turning back to Morningheart, “So why did you bring up hot-season?”

Morningheart didn’t speak for a moment. Her tail twitched behind her, and her ears stood upright, before she blinked, shook her head, and continued speaking. “Every hot-season, the fires burn away everything. That’s why we wait in the river. But in Hickoryclan...they don’t have fires to burn away the rot. Every cold-season, the trees in Hickoryclan lose their leaves. But unlike on the grasslands, they don’t have a fire to burn away those dead leaves. What’s left is leaf-rot, and the forest is covered in it.”

“So it’s just…dead leaves?” Smokepad asked, “That doesn’t sound scary.” Beside her, Pikepad nodded in agreement.

“Cats weren’t meant to live under trees,” Morningheart said, “Cats were meant to live under the stars. Have you ever wondered why Hickoryclan cats spend so long grooming? Why their fur has to look perfect?”

“Because there’s no wind under the trees?” Smokepad offered, standing up, “Or, because they’re super stuck-up?” She bent down to snap at a beetle scurrying into the spot she had just been sitting in, before sitting back down.

Morningheart purred amusement, “The stuck-up part is true. But the main reason is the leaf-rot infects them. If you get close enough to their territory, you can almost hear the leaf-rot calling for you, a thick, overpowering scent. It smells like death and decay. Hickoryclan grooms to keep the leaf-rot out of their fur. But that isn’t enough. The air they breathe is infected with leaf-rot, the prey they eat is infected with leaf rot, their very souls are infected with leaf-rot. Once leaf-rot is in your soul, it’s hard to get rid of.”

“So that’s why they start wars?” Smokepad asked, “The leaf-rot makes them do it?”

“Yes, but it’s not that simple,” Morningheart said, “If the forest had a hot-season like the grasslands do, there wouldn’t be as much leaf-rot. It takes time to become infected. Just taking a step into a forest won’t infect you.”

“Basically,” a new voice said, and Morningheart turned to see Fireflynose climbing out of the stream, fur heavy with river-water, “There’s leaf-rot everywhere. But the fires burn it away, let new things grow, and that’s why moor-runners have survived so long. We understand rebirth. Forest-cats, because they’re stuck under the same trees, stepping on the same dead leaves, can’t understand rebirth.”

“Did you just get up?” Morningheart asked, nuzzling Fireflynose when the molly was close enough to do so.

“Eh, I heard some things,” Fireflynose responded, nuzzling Morningheart back. “What brought this on? Weren’t you supposed to be fishing?”

“You fell asleep first,” Morningheart said with a purr. Fireflynose huffed, but she was grinning. “Smokepad asked about war. Apparently, Hollymind thinks Hickoryclan will start a war.”

“Oh, she’s right,” Fireflynose said, turning to the trainees, “Hickoryclan is very different from us, and Chestnutfoot is the worst. I wouldn’t put a war past them. They think we kidnapped Morning and Otterwhisker, which is a lie, but since when has Hickoryclan cared about the truth?”

“Will we get to fight?” Smokepad asked, bouncing to her paws, “Because I’ve been practicing real well and I think I know what to do!”

“Oh yeah?” Fireflynose asked, “Say I’m a forest-cat, here to steal Morningheart away. What would you do?”

“Can Pikepad help?” Smokepad asked. Fireflynose twitched an ear.

“Sure. Morningheart, you wanna be a Hickoryclan cat?”

“That’s not fair!” Smokepad said, huffing, “You two are bigger and stronger than us!”

“War isn’t fair,” Fireflynose said, “Do you think Hickoryclan is gonna care you two are still young? Of course not, they don’t care that Morning is happy here, there’s no way they care about playing fair.”

“It’s fine, I can sit this out,” Morningheart said, “Now, Smokepad, Fireflynose is a forest-cat, and you and your brother cut her off from the rest of her patrol.”

“Okay,” Smokepad said, crouching down before jumping for Fireflynose, managing to crash into her side. Fireflynose shook the trainee off, and Smokepad collapsed to the ground, almost in the river.

“Use the river to your advantage!” Morningheart called as Pikepad stalked towards Fireflynose, “Hickoryclan hates swimming, and fishing, and water in general! Use that!”

Smokepad huffed and stood to her paws, plunging into the river. It barely went up to her chest, but she kept walking further in until she was swimming, water rushing around her. The gray molly hauled herself up onto a rock sticking out of the river, water dripping from her pelt.

While Smokepad sat on the rock, Pikepad pounced on Fireflynose, sending the two crashing into the river. Pikepad scrambled out of the river, and back to the bank, Fireflynose following him.

“Remember that there’s two of you!” Morningheart said, running a paw over her whiskers, “If this was a real war, there’d be adult cats around, but you never know when you could get separated. Don’t leave your companion to die.”

Smokepad flattened her ears and slid off her rock, back into the water. Fireflynose had Pikepad pinned down, and though her claws weren’t out, the trainee still struggled to get free.

Smokepad climbed out of the river and began making her way to Fireflynose on uneasy paws. Morningheart shook her head at the sight. The trainees were still much too young for war.

“You two would be hurt if this was a real war,” Morningheart said, standing up and walking over to Fireflynose. Her mate let Pikepad up, and he scrambled away to catch his breath.

“I said it would be unfair,” Smokepad said with a scowl, “You’re too big. And you know more than us.”

“Well, if there was a war, I doubt you two would be left alone, anyway,” Fireflynose said, “But there is one advantage, no matter how small you are, that you have over any Hickoryclan cat.”

“What’s that?” Smokepad asked, lying down beside her brother in a patch of grass.

“Despite everything they say, how strong they try to appear, Hickoryclan is ruled by the Code. They follow it, they believe every word our ancestors said about it.”

“How’s that good for us?” Smokepad asked. Fireflynose grinned.

“The Code says that a clan cat is the best kind of cat, that all other cats are inferior and unworthy. The Code also says that no clan cat is to be like those unworthy cats, not to be soft like a softpaw, wandering like a loner, or vicious like a rouge.”

"So?” Smokepad said, “Are you saying that because Hickoryclan calls us rouges, they think we’re inferior? I think they think that anyway.”

“The Code says never to act like a rouge, and because of that it says that to win battles, you do not need to kill other cats. And that’s our advantage. Hickoryclan will avoid killing. But us?”

Fireflynose bared her teeth, and Morningheart purred beside her.

“We know that wars can’t be won though just hurting the other side. No matter what, Hickoryclan will not go for the throat, but us Grassclan cats, us ‘rouges’, as Hickoryclan would say, we don’t shy away from killing.”

“You’re saying…” Smokepad said, staring to smile, “That even if a forest-cat pins us down, they won’t kill us?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Fireflynose said, and even though Morningheart knew there was more to it than that, knew that Fireflynose was simplifying things for the younger cats, she couldn’t help but grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was born out of me needing a sort of interlude between the last chapter and the next one. speaking of the next chapter, im going on vacation tomorrow, so who knows when it will be out. it's already written, though, so it should be out in a few days. 
> 
> so yeah. leaf-rot. i sat down and asked myself 'so what does grassclan think of hickoryclan' and wrote over 1500 words to answer that. the code in these clans is similar to the one in the books (im assuming, i havent read those books in years and dont plan to start again), in the fact that it basically says 'yeah dont kill cats, dont be anything that isnt a clan cat, dont mate with cats not in your clan'. our friends in grassclan were like 'well thats stupid' and thus their legacy as the most rouge-like clan began. the other two clans follow the code, but moorclan is a bit more lax about it.
> 
> have i put to much thought into cat clans? yeah probably but im having a good time.


	5. Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Brightpool talks about her clan, and Morningheart sees her brother.

The battle was raging on beside her. She was bleeding from a gash in her cheek, she couldn’t see out of one eye, and she wasn’t sure if she had the same number of working legs she started the day with. Morningheart wasn’t sure if her mate was alive, if her sister or father or uncles were alive, but all she knew was that she was alive, and her brother was standing before her.

His pelt was the color of charcoal, a thick, endless dark. His eyes shone in the dim lighting, the color of summer grass. He was covered in scars and scratches, and was missing an ear. His pelt, once sleek and sharp, was just as wild and unkempt as hers.

“Jackdaw,” Morningheart said, and it was like something was trying to claw it’s way out of her jaws, “Jackdaw, why?”

The tom didn’t speak. His tail lashed, cutting through the air like a thorn cuts through a paw pad. He narrowed his eyes and growled, low and harsh. He wasn’t like Morningheart remembered him, with his bright green eyes and playful laughter. His pelt had always been on the fuzzy side, but it was like the forest had taken all the good out of him and turned him into nothing more than a shell of his former self.

There was a loud cry, a yowl, and a shape leapt onto a rock that towered over them all. The moonlight shone at her back, and Morningheart could make out dull green eyes and a calico pelt. Brightpool, the ferocious molly who lead her clan like the fire she was born into, stood tall and proud, her chest puffed out and her head held high despite the blood dripping from scratches that littered her coat.

“This isn’t a feud between blood, not anymore,” the leader said, her voice ringing clear and strong in the windless night. Branches stretched above her like a herd of deer, running from a fate they already knew to be true, “This is a feud that never should’ve become. It is a feud of belief, between a clan that embraces change, and a clan that fears it.”

Snarls broke out from the watching cats. Morningheart could feel blood welling up under her tongue, could feel her brother’s gaze on her back, but she only swallowed and watched her leader.

“I want all of you to listen,” Brightpool said, “This started because Chestnutfoot decided that she liked the thrill of a forbidden romance, of going against beliefs, more than the cat she was in said relationship with. Once her relationship wasn’t forbidden, but normal, it was boring to her. And so she plotted, she turned her children against each other and fled back to her birthclan, all while hiding the true reasons she left, because if she told the truth, she would be executed.” Brightpool paused. The fighting had stopped, and even the Hickoryclan cats were listening. Their pelts were bristled, yes, but they listened.

“It’s an endless cycle of moor-runners and forest-cats, of wind tugging on fur and paws stepping on leaf-rot. The grass burns, and the moor is reborn, better and growing, always changing. The clans of the moor are united by this change, by the knowledge that nothing lasts forever. But you forest-cats, you cling to the past like it means something, like it’s the last bit of prey before winter, decaying and rotting but you have nothing else to eat. The leaf-rot infects your soul and you hide the infection with well-groomed pelts and sleek fur. Meanwhile, us moor-runners watch the fires scorch our earth as we sit in the river, water washing over our wild pelts, and we know that, like the cycle of fire and grass, we will rise up again.”

Morningheart turned her gaze to her brother. He was staring back. Her pelt was light and ruffled, wild and free like the lands she ran on, while his was matted and tangled, from scars and blood. Without his sleek pelt and haughty gaze, he didn’t look much like a Hickoryclan cat. He looked like a lost loner, dragging itself up hills and under bushes, searching for a spot to die.

“You put down Grassclan, calling us forest-burners because we embrace the fires we’re born into, you put down rouges for not living their lives the way you think they should, and put down house-cats who have rejected their old lives and turned to the fire, but you refuse to change like they do. Your forest never burns, but when it does, you come crawling to us for prey, for help, because you cannot understand rebirth.”

Jackdawclaw was staring at the ground, now, at the puddle of blood growing under his belly. He gaze was unfocused. Morningheart tried to take a step closer to him, but her left forepaw gave out and she crumpled to the ground, white-hot pain blazing throughout her body.

“This should’ve been a simple argument, where each clan decides what to do. My clan did that. We accepted Morningheart and Otterwhisker, because they have proven their loyalty to us time and time again. Before them, we accepted Brownheart, who stands here today, just as brave and courageous as any born clan cat. Before him, there were others, and after I’m long dead, there will be still be more, because Grassclan prides itself on acceptance and rebirth. Hickoryclan only prides itself on laws, on traditions, and it is because of that your clan will not stand the test of time.”

Morningheart swallowed, and she could only taste coppery blood. Her mouth felt heavy and she could barely see anything. Still, she struggled to her three good paws, teetering, until she could see Jackdawclaw.

“The moor-runners will always have rebirth. No matter what happens to us, both Grassclan and Moorclan know what to do, what to believe in. Burning-season will always come, yes, but it will bring with it new beginnings and new memories. Grassclan will bound through the fires like we bound through the grass, and we will swim and fish and love with the same passion all moor-runners share.”

Brightpool bowed her head, and jumped off the rock, landing in a patch of dead leaves. Cats parted as she seemed to glide through them.

“Grassclan,” she called, “We’re leaving.”

Morningheart stumbled to the voice of her leader. She crashed into Fireflynose, who helped steady her, and together, the two cats followed their leader out of the forest and across the river, shedding off blood.

She could still feel Jackdaw staring into her, as though searching for what made Morningheart herself, and she knew that she wasn’t done with Hickoryclan, not yet.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted to wax poetry about my clans let me live my life. 
> 
> i was in san francisco (which was pretty cool much nicer than georgia thats for sure) and the hotel's internet was bad and i didnt want to bother with updating but im home now!! so stories about cats are back in business!! 
> 
> so this chapter kinda comes without warning, which is why i had a little interlude-ish chapter between in. this is probably a border skirmish or something of that nature. its only about 1000 words so thats why its super short.
> 
> so yeah thats all i gotta say i promise otterwhisker will appear soon


	6. Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fires burn the grassland, and Morningheart finally talks to her sister

Morningheart watched the fires scorch the grasslands, heat washing over her pelt. The clan had already abandoned camp, and Morningheart had had too much fun tossing the grass that was once Chestnutfoot’s nest into the flames.

Beside her was Fireflynose, though the molly wasn’t paying any attention to the fire. “Hey,” Fireflynose said, tail twitching behind her, “Do you think those deer’ll spook if I run after them?”

“Uh…maybe?” Morningheart answered, turning her gaze away from the fire and looking over at the deer Fireflynose was watching. There were three of them, much larger than the cats, and Morningheart knew from experience that it was all too easy for a deer to spook and crush a cat’s spine under its hooves. (She had been just a kitten when she saw Yuccapad die, and since she hadn’t known the tom well, had carved a story of fire and deer onto his bones.)

“I was thinking that, like, we get a group of cats and try to hunt a deer. Like wolves sometimes do? I wonder if I could befriend a wolf…do you think we could understand each other? I’m gonna find a wolf and ask it to help me.” Fireflynose shook out her fur and started to trot away, away from the fire and to the river. She stopped a few tail-lengths from Morningheart, and asked, “Do you wanna help? We could be the first Grassclan cats to eat a deer!”

“I thought you said you ate deer before?” Morningheart asked, turning to face Fireflynose. The tortoiseshell molly huffed and lowered her head.

“No, I said I tried, but a bear chased me off. Honestly, there was enough meat left, and I’d have chewed a bone, even! Bears are jerks.” Fireflynose purred thoughtfully, adding, “It did have its kittens with it, though…I guess that was why.” With a flick of an ear, the molly stood up straighter, spinning back to face the river.

“Good luck!” Morningheart called after her mate. She waited for the sound of Fireflynose’s pawsteps to fade away, before walking off herself. She had seen Otterwhisker disappear into a patch of grass, a patch that hadn’t been burnt by the flames yet, and was curious. As far as she knew, Otterwhisker spent burning-season lazing around in the shallows of the river, not bounding though the flames like Dovefur liked to do.

“Hey, Morningheart, have you seen my sister?” Morningheart looked down to see Beepad, his tail held low behind him, “She said she was going back to camp to get a hawk feather she left behind, but that was a while ago and the fires are still spreading, so I’m kinda worried about her.”

“Did anyone go with her?” Morningheart asked, sitting down and curling her tail around her paws. Beepad nodded.

“Yeah, she went with Acornmind and Aspenleaf. I’m not sure what Acornmind needed, but I think Aspenleaf went back to get herbs or something.”

“Well, I’m going back that way, so I’ll keep an eye out for her,” Morningheart said, rubbing a paw over her whiskers.

“Really? Why? Did you leave something behind, or are you gonna join Dovefur in…whatever she does?” Beepad tilted his head and watched her with wide eyes.

Morningheart purred her amusement. “I’m going back because I saw Otterwhisker disappear that way, and want to know what she’s doing.”

“Oh,” Beepad said, “I thought you were gonna join Dovefur. What does Dovefur do, anyway? Mom says she dances through the fires, but Dad says she likes the thrill of it, or something.”      

“I think she just likes the fire,” Morningheart said, standing up, “You could ask her, when she gets back.”

“I will,” Beepad said, “Just remember to watch for my sister! If you see her, tell her that I’m waiting for her at the river.”

“Don’t worry, I will,” Morningheart said, waving her tail in goodbye as she trotted off towards the fire. Beepad yowled his goodbyes, and started his own way to the river.

The grasslands always felt different during burning-season, Morningheart thought. While it was still noisy near the river, where all the animals of the grasslands gathered, near the fire, it was quiet, other than the roar of flames. When Morningheart was a kitten, she had been scared of the river during burning-season, scared that she’d die like Yuccapad, or be killed by a bear or wolf. But as she grew older, she started to realize that burning-season was more a time of peace than anything. Sure, they’d kill prey, but other predators would never bother them, and when she and her siblings had been trainees, they’d romped around the river with the other young animals, being nuisances to everybody else.

She was closer to the fires, now, stepping on dry grass and bounding around new flames. She couldn’t see her sister, but she could smell her, and while the scent was faint, at least she was on the right path.

“Otterwhisker!” Morningheart called, hoping the roar of fire wouldn’t drown out her words, “Otter, are you around?

She didn’t hear anything, at first, but then she heard her sister yowl, and she raced after the sound. Dry grass crunched underneath her paws, and flames tried to lick at her fur, but she just ran faster, until she could make out the distant shape of a cat sitting on a rock.

“Otterwhisker, what are you doing out here?” Morningheart called, slowing her run into a trot, and then into a walk as she neared the rock. Otterwhisker was sitting atop it, her ears perked and her gaze focused on the fires silhouetting the night sky. Morningheart jumped onto the rock and scrambled for a claw-hold, back paws scraping at the surface, before she hauled herself up and sat beside her sister.

Otterwhisker didn’t look over at her, just flicked an ear and continued to watch the fire. Morningheart huffed and scooted closer to her sister, so their whiskers brushed together.               

“You never come this far away from the river,” Morningheart said, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Otterwhisker said with a sigh, “I just came out to look for Heatherpad, and tell her Beepad’s worried about her.”

“Oh, did you find her?” Morningheart asked. Otterwhisker nodded, blinking smoke out of her eyes.

“Yeah. She was with Dovefur, so I told her and decided to watch the fires for a while.”

“Is that…it? You aren’t thinking or anything?” Morningheart asked, getting up to stretch and lie down. Otterwhisker purred softly, shaking her head.

“Not really. I’m just…I guess I’m just thinking about Jackdaw. And Mom. And us.” Otterwhisker lowered her head and stared at her paws, a paler brown than the rest of her fur.

“About what happened?” Morningheart asked, trying to resist the urge to claw the rock she was resting on. Otterwhisker flattened her ears against her head.

“Sorta. I’m more…thinking about our kittenhood. It just…I usually understand things, but I don’t understand this. I get why Mom left, she’s a forest-cat, but Jackdaw’s a moor-runner like us. He had no reason to leave with her. Did he hate us? Did he hate Grassclan? I never really noticed him hating Grassclan, but I could’ve missed something. So I’m thinking about that, I suppose. Why Jackdaw would leave us.”     

“Maybe…” Morningheart trailed off to think, “Maybe, when we were born, the two of us got the heather and wind Dad had, and Jackdaw got the leaf-rot that Mom has. Maybe there was nothing he could do.”

“Maybe,” Otterwhisker said, but she didn’t sound convinced. “Morning, do you remember our first burning-season?”

“When Yuccapad died?” Morningheart asked, and when Otterwhisker nodded, she said, “Yeah, I remember that. Why?”

“When we were all given bones to carve, I remember not knowing what to carve. I hadn’t seen him die, like you and Jackdaw had, I hadn’t talked to him, and I didn’t really know anything about him. I asked Dad what to carve, and he just said something like, ‘since you didn’t know him, just carve how you feel.’ So I did that. I gnawed on his bone and carved a story about how I was confused, and how I felt guilty for not knowing him, and then I buried it just outside of camp and forgot it existed. I guess I’m just really remembering it now.”                                                                    

Morningheart purred to offer some comfort to her sister, and watched the fires dance across the land as Otterwhisker continued talking.

“That’s how I feel about this whole thing. Confused and guilty.” Otterwhisker stood up, shaking dust out of her tabby pelt, and hopped off the rock, landing on the ground with a thud. “I’m going back to the river before the fires get here,” she said, starting to trek through the grass, “You coming?”

Morningheart nodded, knowing Otterwhisker couldn’t see her, and stood up, stretching sore legs. She jumped off the rock and followed after her sister, a little way behind.

“Hey,” Morningheart said, and Otterwhisker didn’t turn to look at her, but she did prick up her ears, “Fireflynose is trying to gather together some cats and ask a wolf to help them take down a deer. Do you want to go see how she’s doing with that?”

Otterwhisker snorted, her tail twitching. “Sounds like Fireflynose,” she said, “Remember when we used to play with the young wolves during burning-season? I guess they’d be our age now, wonder if they remember us.”

“We remember them,” Morningheart said, speeding her pace into a trot to catch up to Otterwhisker, “Fireflynose could ask them for help, I bet they’d be more willing to help.”

“Yeah,” Otterwhisker said with a soft purr of laughter, “If they remember us, and are feeling nice.”     

“Maybe they do remember us,” Morningheart said, slowing down once she was walking beside her sister, “You never know.”

Otterwhisker purred, and she bumped her nose against Morningheart’s cheek. Morningheart purred back, and the two sisters continued to the river.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and otterwhisker appears!
> 
> for some worldbuilding in the end notes, each clan has a different way they honor the dead, but grassclan's is that they bring the body to an open patch of land, leave it (for like, a month or so), until scavengers have picked all the flesh off the bones. then the entire clan returns to the leftover bones, and carve stories about that cat onto the bones, using their claws and teeth. after, they can either keep the bone, or bury it wherever they want. this method of burying their dead does nothing but make the 'grassclan isn't a true clan, but just a group of vicious rouges' belief even stronger. the other two clans...dont do this. (moorclan has small funerals, where those who knew the dead cat best attend, say some words, and bury the body, while in hickoryclan, the whole clan attends the funeral, and the body is buried near the roots of a tree and covered with leaves and flowers.)
> 
> anyone read those wolves of the beyond books, by the same person who wrote the owl books? i got the bone carving idea from that bc i thought it was pretty interesting, except what the cats carve is more clawmarks and teethmarks, with each bone telling a story, yes, but it's not like you're gonna know what the story is unless you're the cat who carved it.


	7. Jackdaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morningheart meets with her brother.

Her cream and gray paws crushed the grass beneath her, though there wasn’t much left alive. Soot and ash stained the moor, remnants of grass and bushes that were burnt back to their most basic elements. Beside her, leaving paw prints of soot in her wake, was Fireflynose.

“Do you think he’ll come?” Morningheart asked, wading into the river that separated Grassclan from Hickoryclan. Her mate purred softly, sliding into the water.

“I’m not sure,” the tortoiseshell said, flicking a ginger ear, “I hope he doesn’t. Jackdawclaw is a jerk.”

“He’s my brother,” Morningheart said, resting her tail on Fireflynose’s back, “But I get what you mean. He’s become such a…such a forest-cat, and it makes me sick.”

“Once a forest-cat, always a forest-cat,” Fireflynose said, “It’s nothing we can fix. He’s had leaf-rot in him since he was born, while you had heather and wind.”

“I just…” Morningheart trailed off, letting out a deep sigh, “I just want him to see. He can’t really believe Chestnutfoot, I won’t believe it!”

“You’d better,” Fireflynose huffed, fur on her back bristling. Morningheart followed her gaze to see the sleek form of Jackdawclaw, standing on his side of the river, three more cats flanking him.

“Jackdaw…” Morning started, but before she could get out another word, Fireflynose hissed and spat at the cats around Jackdawclaw.

“She said to come alone,” the molly said, baring her teeth, “This isn’t alone. As far as we know, you plan to kill us. Send those other forest-cats back.”

“Morningheart didn’t come alone,” Jackdawclaw countered, digging his claws into the dirt, “You’re here, running your mouth.”

“I’m her mate,” Fireflynose said, hissing, her ears flat against her head. Her tail twitched behind her, “That’s different. You know us. We don’t know you.”

“You know me,” Jackdawclaw said. One of the cats beside him, a tabby tom, narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah, but not the other cats you brought. The three of us grew up together, so I’m pretty confident I know how you act,” Fireflynose said. She shuffled closer to Morningheart, brushing their fur together, her movements kicking up ripples in the river.

“Look,” Morningheart said, keeping her fur flat, “Let’s just talk. That’s why we’re both here, isn’t it?”

Jackdawclaw didn’t respond.

“Jackdaw, I know you’re not stupid. You can’t buy into Mom’s lies. So…why? Why would you betray Grassclan and go along with what Chestnutfoot is saying?” Morningheart twined her tail around Fireflynose’s and continued, “Jackdaw, you’re my brother, and I know you. This isn’t you. The Jackdaw I knew had a wild pelt, fur ruffled by the wind and paws stained with dirt and grass. You…you would never spend hours grooming, trapped away from the wind and stars. What’s gotten into you?”

“What’s gotten into me?” Jackdawclaw spat, dark fur prickling, “What’s gotten into you, more like! Grassclan stole us away from our home, Morning, from where we were supposed to be! Yeah, I know Mom is making things seem worse than they were, but if she didn’t, she’d be executed! Do you want that?”

“Hah!” Fireflynose snorted, shaking her head, “Even you admit it! Hickoryclan is so obsessed with tradition, that they’d kill one of their own just because she went and had kittens! Star-cats, who cares? Does it matter who has kittens with who? I know tons of cats with rouge parents, or house-cat parents, or are half-clan like you and Morning, and whatever! Most of you turn out fine, and Jackdawclaw, I honestly considered you a friend before you went and got infected by leaf-rot! You were a bit rude, sure, but you were always pulling your weight, and when we were younger, we’d all race each other across the moor! What happened to that, huh? Did you forget it?”

Jackdawclaw stiffened. “I don’t belong on the moor,” he said, huffing, “You and Morning and Otter might be able to live there, but I can’t, okay? I saw a trainee die the first time the moor burned! You let him get eaten and then chewed on his bones like some rabid animal! You treat the fire like it’s something to be proud of, but it’s not! At least I won’t get burned alive in Hickoryclan!”

“So you’re giving up?” Fireflynose asked, taking a step closer to Jackdawclaw, who was growling, “You’re running away from your home just because it’s too hard for you? You’re running to the leaf-rot, and letting it stain your soul just because you want to hide in the forest, is that it?”

"This isn’t you, Jackdaw,” Morningheart said, looking down at the water and the tiny fish swimming around her still paws. She looked back up, meeting Jackdawclaw’s eyes. “This can’t be you.”

Fireflynose let out a harsh purr, “I think the leaf-rot has already gotten to him.” She walked forward until she was standing in the shallows, near Jackdawclaw, who stared down at her like she was a mouse between his paws.

“Fireflynose…” Morningheart called, lifting a paw to take a step, her fur prickling with unease. This was her brother, she knew him, but why did she feel like something heavy had nested in her throat?

Jackdawclaw bared his teeth and spat. A bicolor molly beside him flicked her ear and gestured with her tail. Morningheart let her tail sweep back and forth under the water.

“I can’t believe Morningheart even likes you,” Jackdawclaw finally said. He growled and leapt for her, one of the toms following after him. The other tom and the molly lunged for Morningheart, pinning her down in the shallows of the water. The dilute tortoiseshell struggled, lashing out with claws and teeth.

“Get off me!” Fireflynose yowled, “Let us—” she started, before there was a loud splash and the molly went quiet. Morningheart struggled even fiercer, managing to claw the tom in the eye. He stumbled back, blood dripping into the water, and Morningheart stood to her paws, pushing past the bicolor molly to her brother and the tabby tom, who were holding Fireflynose under the water. With a yowl, she lunged herself at Jackdawclaw, digging her claws into his belly.

“How dare you!” She spat, after a glance behind her to make sure Fireflynose was breathing. The molly was littered with scratches, hacking, but on her paws, staring down the tabby tom. Morningheart turned her attention back to her brother.        

“I never said I was here to talk,” Jackdawclaw said, chest rising and falling quickly. His breaths were labored, and his eyes were wide, unblinking.

“I trusted you,” Morningheart said, digging her claws deeper into his pelt, “You were my brother, and I trusted you.”

“She started it,” Jackdawclaw said, limbs limp. He wasn’t even trying to fight back. “Fireflynose always starts things, doesn’t she? Aren’t you sick of it? Sick of the fire and heat? You could still come with me, and I wouldn’t even hate you for anything you’ve done. You’re still my sister.”

“I…” Morningheart swallowed the lump in her throat and growled, “I’m a moor-runner. You’re a forest-cat. I’d say you could rejoin Grassclan, but…” she trailed off. Under her, Jackdawclaw let out a ragged purr, though there was nothing comforting in the sound, not anymore.

“Morningheart!” Fireflynose called, trudging over to her mate. One of her eyes was swollen shut, and she had a deep gash in her side. “Morningheart, I think we killed at least two of them.”

“Vicious rouges,” Jackdawclaw said with a hacking cough, “You can’t outrun your nature. That all forest-burners can do, destroy things. You destroy lives like the fire destroys your moor. No wonder you love it so much.”

"You tried to kill us first,” Fireflynose said, holding her head high despite the blood dripping from her cheek, “C’mon, Morning, kill him and let’s leave. Or, have him stumble back to his clan half dead, either is fine with me.”

Morningheart stared at her brother. She hated him. She hadn’t before, but this cat wasn’t her brother. Her brother would never attack her mate. Her brother was a moor-runner, not a forest-cat. Her brother was dead.

“You aren’t my brother,” she said, and she lifted a paw to slash him across the neck, “You’re a monster wearing his skin.”

“If that’s what you need to believe,” Jackdawclaw said with a growl. He was still staring when she brought her claws across his neck, still staring as blood gushed out of him, and still staring when she climbed off his corpse and pushed him downstream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i killed jackdaw. this was also the last chapter already written, so expect more delay between updates
> 
> while we're here in the end notes, i feel like rambling about how this started. sorry. 
> 
> the idea for this was born one evening when i was watching warrior cat pmvs on youtube. one of them was with oakheart and bluestar, and i don't know what the song was called but im like 95% sure it was from hamilton bc it mentioned georgia and british in the same sentence. anyway, that got me thinking about forbidden relationships, and ways they don't work out. i always thought the one in the books was kinda...garbage. bluestar had no reason to give up her kittens, because she could be both a deputy and take care of kittens??? if they were old enough to walk from thunder to riverclan they were old enough to be left alone with other queens watching them while bluestar did her duties or whatever. 
> 
> back on track. i wanted to write something better than the one in the books, so i wrote the first chapter of this. i had no idea where i was going. i liked the characters, and the idea, so i took it and ran with it. i still didn't know where i was going with things, but as time went on, i got an idea. and then i killed jackdaw. i thought it was a fitting end for him, killed by his own sister. 
> 
> but dont worry, one day there will be flashback chapters, of their days as kittens. and the story is far from over. do you think hickoryclan is gonna let this go? hell no, we got some cat politics coming up and i for one am pumped. 
> 
> ok bye


	8. Otter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Otter reflects on some moments in her life.

Otter was young then, her fur more kitten-fluff than the courser fur of an adult. She was sitting beside her sister, Morning’s gray fur brushing against her brown. On her other side was her brother, dark tail puffed up and lashing, hitting the dirt beneath them like a steady heartbeat.

“Mom,” Otter is the first to ask, feeling her sister stiffen beside her, “Why don’t you tell us stories about our ancestors?”

Their mother, her fur the same color as her oldest daughter, a deep brown, makes a sound halfway between a hiss and a growl. She narrowed her grass-green eyes, ears still. “Why do you ask?” she said, and Otter couldn’t help but to dig her claws into the dirt.

“It’s because you never tell us stories about Grassclan,” Morning said, voice soft and rushed, “You only tell us about Hickoryclan, and I don’t think the stories you tell are even true…”

“Yeah,” Otter added, “The other day, Finchmind was telling us about a loner named Deer. She said he always felt unsafe in the forest, like it was watching him, calling to him to stay and bury himself in the leaf-rot, but he tried to fight it off.”

Morning purred, piping up. “Yeah! And then, when the forest-cats found him living in the forest, they all rose up and tried to drown him in rot! But, he ran away onto the moor, which was burning at the time, and was saved by a group of moor-runners, who had just escaped from the forest themselves! Finchmind said it was before the clans started, and that Deer became Grassclan’s first Seer. She never really told us what a Seer was, though, only that they had a connection with the dead.”

“I still think it’s a stupid story,” Jackdaw muttered, tail still lashing, “How do you drown a cat in leaf-rot? It’s not like it’s as deep as the river, right? Maybe it is…I’ve never been in a forest.”

“Jackdaw’s just mad because he thought the forest-cats were gonna kill Deer, but he got it wrong and had to give Beetle his favorite river-rock,” Otter said, butting her head against her brother’s cheek, “But why don’t you tell us about Grassclan?”

“Dad does!” Morning said, “And Firefly told me that she overheard her Mom saying that you’re too much like a forest-cat for her liking, and that she doesn’t get why Dad likes you. You don’t like forest-cats, do you, Mom? They’re bad!”

“Why would I bother to tell you stories about Grassclan,” their Mom said, silencing the chatter of her kittens with a glare, “You have the elders to do that. Are they ever going to tell you about the other clans?”

“Well, yeah,” Otter said, tilting her head, “They tell us about Moorclan, and how we’re both clans of rebirth and change.”

“Moorclan,” their Mom said with a scoff, tail twitching behind her. She didn’t say anything else, other than a quiet hiss that sounded like, “Can’t believe I thought this would be easy,” before she turned tail and stalked in the direction of Lookout Rock.

“She never answered…” Morning said, standing up and shaking out her long fur. Otter purred her unease.

“Whatever,” Jackdaw said, standing to his paws, “I don’t really care, anyway. Let’s go see what the other kittens want to do. Maybe we can play moor-runners and forest-cats against, I dunno.”

“I want to be a moor-runner this time!” Morning said, bounding off in the direction of the rocks the kittens usually play at, in the middle of camp, “I’m always a forest-cat, and it’s stupid!”

Jackdaw followed after her, leaving Otter alone, watching Lookout Rock. Her Mom had already gone over it and down the hill; there was no way Otter could see her. Yet, she still wanted to, wanted to see her Mom come back up and actually tell them why she never told good stories.

“Hey, Otter, whatcha doing over here?” Otter turned around to see Acorn, his fur looking browner in the dark evening, “Did Chestnutfoot tell you anything?”

Otter shook her head, hissing under her breath. “No, just spat some nonsense about the elders already telling us about Grassclan, and left. What are you doing?”

“I didn’t want to play with Beetle and Wren,” Acorn said, “They keep thinking they can boss me around, ‘cause they’re older than me. It’s really annoying.” The tom sat down beside her, staring up at the stars. “Hey, Otter, did Finchmind ever tell you guys the story of Fawnfoot?”

“Fawnfoot?” Otter asked, thinking, “Um, no, I don’t think so. Why?”

“I thought it was really interesting,” Acorn explained, “I’ll tell you. So, there was this cat named Fawnfoot, right? And he was a Seer, the first Grassclan Seer in generations. The last one had died by the time his Grandmother was a kitten, so the clan was super excited to finally have another Seer in the clan. And he lived a pretty good life, you know, had friends, got a mate eventully, adopted a litter of kittens. But then, his mate’s brother, he’s dared to go into the little forest on the Hickoryclan border, bring back a mouse, and eat it, to see if he can taste the leaf-rot. This starts a battle between Hickoryclan and Grassclan, and during it, Fawnfoot’s mate is killed by a Hickoryclan cat.”

“But Finchmind says the Hickoryclan cats don’t kill…” Otter said, twitching her tail, “She said they’re too dedicated to the Code to even consider such a thing.”

“The code says no killing clan cats,” Acorn said with a growl, “I guess they don’t consider us clan cats sometimes, or at least during that battle. Anyway, after his mate is killed, Fawnfoot can still see and hear him, because he’s a Seer. And this goes on for a long time, until Fawnfoot is Fawnmind. Then one day, Hickoryclan invades camp, and one of the cats attack him, and even though Hickoryclan is driven off, there’s nothing the medicine cat can do for Fawnmind except try and keep him comfortable, because the wound is infected. So Fawnmind is almost dead, and he’s kinda…out of it, I guess. But before he died, he tells the medicine cat something.”

Acorn paused, and Otter nudged him, noticing that the older tom was trembling, almost, his fur prickling and his eyes wide, still staring up at the stars, that seemed to twinkle with a cold distance.

“He tells the medicine cat that this entire time, he could see his mate, and he could see all the friends he outlived, generations of generations of Grassclan cats, just shades of mist that would slip in and out of his vision, and whispers that he could hear. He says that all the dead he can hear, all the cats he can see, that they’re stuck. That none of them can find the Star Ladder. All of them are trapped on the ground, forever staring up at the stars, wondering if there are any cats up there, if the Lucky Ones even exist. Then he says that to be a Seer is to be cursed by the dead, cursed to bear a weight, cursed to forever know that there will be nothing waiting for you when you die, but the foggy forms of your loved ones as you wander the moor, desperately trying to find something that might not be real. And then he died, and apparently, according to Finchmind, there hasn’t been another Seer in Grassclan ever since.”

“…wow,” Otter said, “That’s…”

“I know,” Acorn said, running a paw over his whiskers, “It makes you think. If there is no Star Ladder, then who are the stars, the Lucky Ones, and why don’t they help the cats trapped below?”

“How do you know you’re a Seer?” Otter wondered, not talking to Acorn specifically, but to anybody, to any cat that might overhear her, “Like, is there a test, or do you just know? Finchmind said there’s many different types of Seers, and they often never know they’re Seers.”

“I guess if you can hear or see the dead?” Acorn said, flicking an ear, “Maybe it’s like a sense. Like, you know you can see because you can see, but if a cat was blind and never saw, they wouldn’t really know exactly what they were missing. Like, they’d know they couldn’t see, because they would hear cats telling them that, but they wouldn’t really know what seeing is. Maybe it’s like that, you don’t know you don’t have it, because you can’t comprehend what you’re missing, but if you had it, it’d be obvious.”

“Maybe,” Otter mused. Out of the corner of her eye, she could swear she saw a shape, a flicker of fog, but she dismissed it. Of couse she’d be seeing things, she was thinking about Seers.

But still, she couldn’t ignore the feeling that something was there, something was watching her, even as she and Acorn turned away and decided to rejoin the other kittens in the middle of camp. But she managed to push it down, suppress it, until it was barely there at all. After all, there was no such thing as a Seer who could feel the dead.

* * *

 Otterpad had been streaking after rabbits with her mentor and Fireflypad, the two mollies panting as they bounded across the moor, the grass a blur beneath her as she focused on the movement of her legs and the scent of the rabbit. While she hadn’t been the one to kill it, she had managed to chase it into Fireflypad’s waiting claws.

“You both did good,” Cougarheart said, eyes bright. The molly was panting, less that the two trainees’, but still visibly tired. “We can rest up for a while before we head back to camp.”

“Should we bury the rabbit?” Otterpad asked, trying to keep herself steady even as her legs shook. Cougarheart shook her head.      

"No, that would be a waste of time, and it’s not like we’re leaving this spot. Anyway, the only animals that would steal our prey are either smaller than us, or huge like wolves or bears. They won’t want anything to do with a tiny rabbit.” Cougarheart pricked her ears, suddenly alert, “I can hear a herd of something coming. You two, get up on that rock over there, and I’ll join you with the rabbit.”

“How can you hear a herd?” Fireflypad asked, dragging herself over to the rock and clambering up it, only to flop down on her side once she was safely atop. Otterpad followed after her, ignoring the aching of her muscles. Once she was on the rock, she collapsed beside the tortoiseshell molly, too sore to bother moving, Cougarheart purred her amusement as she joined them on the rock, placing the rabbit in front of her before sitting down.

“It’s like faint thunder,” she said, licking drops of blood off her paws, “You can hear the moor tremble, and something like thrumming, and then you’ll see a huge herd of pronghorn, or elk, or deer, or something like that come over the hill.”

“Why are they running?” Otterpad asked, lifting up her head to see out over the grasslands. She could hear the herd herself, now, like the beating of her heart: constant and steady. She could even see the animals, a herd of pronghorn coming up over the hill.

“Wolves, I bet,” Cougarheart said, “They hunt animals like that.”

“Really?” Otterpad asked, narrowing her eyes to try and see if she could spot a wolf. She thought she could see one, a sleek, gray shape, but it disappeared in a flurry of hooves.

“Yeah. Instead of working in small groups, like us, all of them chase down one animal and kill it. It’s more work, but wolves are bigger and need bigger prey. If we’re lucky, we can see them bring one down.”

“How long are we staying here, then?” Fireflypad asked.

“I guess just until the pronghorn are gone. I wouldn’t want to get trampled by them,” Cougarheart said. Fireflypad nodded in agreement.

The three cats fell into a comfortable silence, watching the pronghorn. After a few minutes, it became increasingly obvious the animals were being hunted, especially when one of the pronghorn broke off from the rest, and a group of wolves fell into pace after it.

The herd of pronghorn had gone off the other way, avoiding the cats, but the one the wolves were hunting was coming straight for their rock, over the hill.

“We’re gonna get to see a wolf hunt!” Fireflypad purred, pushing herself up into a sitting position. “I wonder if they have trainee’s hunting with them now. I met a wolf last burning-season, I forgot her name, but she was pretty cool. She said she had two littermates, and her parents were the leaders of her clan. I guess she’d be a trainee by now.”

“How big are wolf clans?” Otterpad asked. The wolves were attacking the pronghorn now, four of the fastest wolves biting at its legs in an attempt to bring it down. They were nearing the rock, the pronghorn stumbling over its bloodied legs as it tried to run.

“I’m pretty sure that’s the size of them,” Cougarheart said, gesturing with her tail to the wolves before them. “I’m sure there’s more clans of them, but this is the only one close enough for us to cross paths.”

“Huh,” Otterpad said, returning her attention to the hunt. The wolves were on the pronghorn now, it’s desperate bleats and the snarls of the wolves carrying over the grasslands.

“Could cats hunt like wolves?” Fireflypad wondered aloud, “Like, if the entire clan went after a pronghorn, could we take it down?”

“No,” Cougarheart said, “Wolves are much larger than us, and can withstand the kicks of pronghorn. We’d just die, or at least be so injured we couldn’t continue the hunt. Besides, we don’t need huge prey like that. A single rabbit can feed a good number of cats, and with so many cats out hunting, we have no problem feeding our clan.”

“I think it’d be fun to try,” Fireflypad said, standing to her paws. The wolves had killed the pronghorn, and were now eating it, all ten or so of the clan. “I’m gonna go see if I can find the wolf I talked to last burning-season.”

“Fireflypad!” Cougarheart called, but the tortoiseshell molly had already leapt down, and was bounding across the land, to the wolves. “She’s gonna get herself hurt,” Cougarheart muttered, “Otterpad, let’s go after her. Don’t try to steal the wolves’ prey.”   

“What about the rabbit?” Otterpad asked, following her mentor off the rock and after Fireflypad. Cougarheart hissed.

“Hopefully anything wanting to take it will be distracted by the wolves’ prey,” the molly said. “Hurry up, Fireflypad’s already almost there.

Otterpad broke into a sprint, blood roaring in her ears. The scent of wolves was almost overpowering, and the closer she got, the larger the animals seemed.

“Fireflypad!” she yowled, catching the attention of not only her clanmate, but a few of the wolves. The tabby hissed, stopping where she was, arching her back. Fireflypad was only a few tail-lengths from the wolves, close enough for them to hurt her.

“Hi, Otterpad!” Fireflypad called, barely flinching when one of the wolves sniffed her, “I’m alive! C’mon, I wanna find the wolf I played with!” She turned to the wolves, asking, “Are any of you roughly my age and played with a kitten during burning-season? Because that kitten was me.”

Otterpad dared a few steps closer, noting Cougarheart a couple paces behind her. The wolves didn’t seem angry, only somewhat amused.         

“Little cat!” one of the wolves said. Its voice was much deeper than any cat voice Otterpad had ever heard before, and it sounded like a rumbling growl. “Are you Firefly? I’m Windwatcher. We splashed around in the shallows of the river last fire-season?”

"Yeah! That was me!” Fireflypad said, purring, “It’s so cool that you remembered me! Are you a trainee too, then? Is this your first hunt? This isn’t my first hunt, but cats don’t hunt huge pronghorn. Does your prey ever fight back?”

“Trainee?” Windwatcher asked, shaking snow out of her fur. “This was my first hunt, if that’s what you mean, but I’ve watched a few. And yeah, sometimes the prey likes to kick us. That’s why we chase it, so it’s focused on running and not kicking. By the time we catch up, it’s usually too tired to fight back.”

“Wait,” another wolf said. His voice was gruff, with more of a growl under it, “You. Fawn-cat. Are you the leader of this hunt?”

Cougarheart, who had been watching from the sidelines, stepped forward, nodding. “Yes, I’m Cougarheart. I’m leading this patrol. I apologize for Fireflypad, if you were wondering, but she ran off before I could stop her.

“It’s fine,” the wolf said, “We had finished hunting. I’m Birdcatcher, and one of yours, a cat the color of fire, she was howling about a Acorntail dying. If you were heading to her, she already went back to your camp with the body.”              

“Acorntail?” Otterpad asked, feeling as though she had just been crushed by a hoof, “What do you mean, dying? He’s dead?”

“I believe so,” the wolf said. “We ran into another one of your hunts, this one led by a brown cat, and told him. He went back to your camp and said for us to tell any other patrols that come across us to go back to your camp.”

“Oh, star-cats,” Cougarheart muttered, “Thank you, Birdcatcher. Uh, luck and safety to you and your clan.” She turned to Otterpad and Fireflypad, “You two, hurry up.”

“What about the rabbit?” Otterpad asked as they bounded past the rock, her heart beating fast in her chest. Her mentor let out a harsh huff.

“Leave it,” the fawn colored molly said, “We can always catch another.”

* * *

 A full moon-cycle later, the clan returned to Acorntail’s body, flesh picked clean off the bone by whatever scavengers lurked on the lonesome fringes of the moor, where the wind blew cold no matter the season. She selected a gleaming white bone, half-buried in a pile of dirt, and carved a story of two kittens, watching the stars and wondering what was up there, if not the Lucky Ones.

When she was finished, she looked up to find the area almost empty, other than Acorntail’s mother and Brightpool. She made her way back to camp, bone held tight in her jaws, and collapsed in her nest, bone resting beside her head.

 She dreamt of being trapped under the ice, watching lazy fish drift by, water filling her chest, of yowling for air and hearing nothing but the silence of water. She woke up cold, shivering, and with a nest smelling of Acorntail.

With the sun sinking above her, she crept out of her nest and buried the bone under the lone tree you could see from Lookout Rock on clear days. By the time she was back in her nest, she could no longer smell Acorntail, and no longer dreamt of drowning, silent and alone.

* * *

 “Hey, Otterpad,” her brother called from the river-border with Hickoryclan, his green eyes glowing in the low light of the moon. Otterpad went to join him, leaving Morningpad and Fireflypad to chase after crickets.

“Yeah?” she asked, sitting beside her dark-furred brother. There were leaves clinging to his pelt, and Otterpad narrowed her eyes. “What did you do?” she asked, though with her tone of voice, it was more like she demanded.

“I went into the forest!” Jackdawpad said, voice light with happiness, “You know how everyone always says it’s full of leaf-rot and forest-cats? It wasn’t as bad as I thought! I didn’t actually see a forest-cat, because I stayed near the river-border, but I did see some dead leaves. I don’t think I got infected by leaf-rot.”

“Jackdaw, why would you go in the forest?” Otterpad asked, her heart seizing in her chest, “What if you got infected! You might not be able to notice, or it was just a little, but it’ll grow!”

 “Otter, I think I’m fine,” Jackdawpad said with a huff, “If I was infected by leaf-rot, I’d know it. Besides, we see Hickoryclan at gatherings, and we never get infected. I was in the forest for less time than gatherings last, so I’m fine.”

“But you went into the forest,” Otterpad said. She didn’t know why her brother was so calm about this—didn’t he know the stories? Of lone Grassclan cats venturing into the forest, hearing the whispers of leaf-rot, of the forest, and being cursed to an endless existence of being lost in the woods?

“I did,” Jackdawpad said. He blinked, slow and long, before meeting Otterpad’s gaze. “But you know why. You get the dreams too, right? The ones of tall trees, and waves crashing, and birds calling? I feel like…I feel like I’ve been in the forest before. It felt familiar.”

“I know the dreams,” Otterpad said, lifting one of her paws and studying it. If she dared to enter the woods, would she too feel what Jackdaw felt? Feel that familiarity, like she had felt rot on her paws before? “You promise you aren’t infected?” she asked, placing her paw back onto the cool sand.

“I’m fine,” Jackdawpad repeated, “Honestly. But, uh,” he said, looking down at his paws and having the decency to look embarrassed, “Don’t tell Morning about this, okay? She’s really bad with all this forest-cat stuff, and I don’t want her to be constantly thinking I’ll die.”

"I won’t tell her,” Otterpad promised, curling her tail around her brother’s. Together, they watched the forest, the leaves blowing in the light breeze, the shadowy shades twisting around the trees, and if Otterpad listened, she could hear the wails of the lost souls, forever stuck in the twisting woods, and the soft crooning of the forest, trying to welcome her in its embrace.

* * *

 Otterwhisker was whispering to Beetlefur when she found out she was half Hickoryclan. It came the same way an unexpected rainfall came: out of nowhere, nothing you could do but get soaked.

She stopped her whispers and turned her attention to the front of the crowd. There was Chestnutfoot, and Morningheart, and her father, and Jackdawclaw. She watched Jackdawclaw, her brother, the cat she knew since birth, she watched him go to stand beside Chestnutfoot. Lying, infected Chestnutfoot. Otterwhisker could almost see the leaf-rot staining her soul, the tendrils of death that curled around her very being, and were ensnaring her brother’s soul.  

“Otterwhisker?” Beetlefur asked, pressing a dark brown paw to her friend’s chest. Otterwhisker shook herself, like shaking snow out of her fur. She could go up there, she should go up there, stand by her sister, and demand for Jackdaw to do the same. She was the eldest of the litter. Her brother would listen to her.

“Be that way,” she heard her mother spat. It was directed at Otterwhisker, the molly knew it. She could see her mother leaving, could see her trudging through the tall grass and disappearing into the fog. She imagined herself leaping up, bounding after her brother with grace, spinning him around and yelling at him, convincing him to come home. Their mother might be stained with rot, but he was a moor-runner.

But she didn’t stand. She stayed sat at her spot beside Beetlefur, like a shrub clinging to the ground while the wind whipped around it, refusing to let go. She thought back to a conversation with her brother, back when they were both young, the whispered sounds of, _I went into the forest_ and _it wasn’t as bad as I thought._

Otterwhisker let her brother leave. She left the group as they cheered for Morningheart, for the new trainees, and returned to her nest, where she slept until the moon rose the next day.

* * *

 Her sister’s paws were stained with dried blood as she stumbled into camp, her eyes wide and unfocused, as empty as the darkest parts of the sky. Fireflynose was beside her, covered in still-bleeding cuts, leading her mate into camp as cats turned and watched.

“Morningheart.” Otterwhisker was the first to speak, to move, as her sister stopped in the middle of camp, trembling and shaking in her pelt. “Morningheart, what did you do?” she asked.

“I…” Morningheart said, her gray-and-cream fur sticky with blood, “I…” She was focused on her paws, red and dark and blood-covered. “Jackdaw’s dead,” she said, squeezing her green eyes shut, “Jackdaw’s been dead. I killed the monster wearing his fur.”

“Oh, Morning,” Otterwhisker whispered, taking careful steps towards her sister. Fireflynose let out a ragged hiss, and Otterwhisker stopped in her tracks, a few paw-lengths away from her sister.

“Don’t come closer,” Fireflynose said, and it sounded as though there was something stuck in her chest, “Don’t—just don’t. Please.”

“Do you want me to get Aspenleaf?” Otterwhisker asked, and her sister’s mate nodded, glancing over at Morningheart as though the molly would fall apart with one touch.

“I’m here,” Aspenleaf said, pushing through the crowd that had gathered, unmoving, “I’m here. If you two could just…come to my den. Please, everyone, just…go. Go hunting, or something. Don’t crowd the two of them.”

Otterwhisker watched the clan part around her, watched her sister and Fireflynose enter Aspenleaf’s den, and she stood and began to walk towards Lookout Rock. It was on the hill hiding their camp, and from the rock you could see the entire territory, from the river-border with Moorclan, to the empty fringes where bears and vultures lurked, to the forest.

“You’re one of those lost souls now, I suppose,” she told the air around her, closing her eyes and breathing out, “Stuck forever in the forest.”

She stared down at her paws, stained with nothing but dirt and grass, though they felt sticky and heavy. She looked back out to the forest, at the ash and soot staining the golden moor, at the sun sinking below the distant mountains, and thought.

“I wish she brought your body back,” Otterwhisker said. _I wish I could carve your story on a bone_ , she did not say.

She leapt off the rock, with nothing more to say, and made her way to the river-border. She could smell death the closer she got, and if she followed the scent, she was sure she would find the very spot her sister killed her brother, but she did not follow that scent. She picked a spot where the death wasn’t as strong, crossed the river, and made her way to the nearest tree: a large willow tree, its branches trailing in the water.

“I hope this is what you wanted,” she spoke to the tree, to Jackdaw, to Morning, to everyone who had caused this. She stood onto her hind paws, rested her forepaws on the tree, unsheathed her claws, and began to carve a story of forest-cats and moor-runners into the bark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is the plural of pronghorn....pronghorn?? it sounds right (deer, deer, elk, elk) but i actually have no idea and googling it showed both with and without an 's' so im going with it's right. anyway, this is an interlude chapter while i try to figure out what exactly is going to happen from this point forward. expect like the same amount of time between updates. im lazy and my two writing speeds are: writing nonstop for a week and guiltily staring at word before closing it. 
> 
> how can cats and wolves talk if they are different species?? i imagine that there'd be some sort of common language for predators, or, at least the wolves who live on the grassland would have one due to them gathering at the river with the cats whenever the moor is on fire. cats and wolves can share their territory since they don't really eat the same prey. also, kittens in the clans dont get a suffix bc they havent earned one yet. technically, their suffix would be their clan name (morninggrass, chestnuthickory, maplemoor) but those are more like last names and wouldnt be used unless the kit is in trouble.


End file.
